


A Species of Madness

by severity_softly



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Angst, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 10:59:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5663710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/severity_softly/pseuds/severity_softly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Rossi finds Reid strung out on the streets, he decides he's going to make sure Spencer gets clean, even if he has to take matters into his own hands. (Originally published September 2009)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Species of Madness

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published September 2009. Super huge thanks to my awesome betas innerslytherin and resolucidity, who held my hand and encouraged me far more than I probably deserved. <3 them.

_My case is a species of madness, only that it is a derangement of the volition, and not of the intellectual faculties.  
~ Samuel Taylor Coleridge_

David Rossi had never had a junkie sitting in his home before, but apparently there was a first time for everything.

Spencer's head had dropped back against the chair, his Adam's apple bobbing occasionally in his throat. He was slumped down, his legs hanging wide. It might have looked wanton, if it weren't for the fact that Dave knew that Spencer had likely just nodded off.

Or maybe not.

"You can touch me, if you want to," Spencer murmured into the silence, lifting his head to give Dave a look from across the room.

Dave's brows drew together.

"Or I could touch you."

"Spencer... Why?" Dave asked, ignoring the way his body _wanted_ to be excited by those words. It had been a _long_ time, and Dave had never been a man that didn't struggle with his libido. Still, this was _Spencer Reid_ , who was not only his co-worker, but young enough to be his son. Not to mention that he was a genius. And, oh yeah, he was out of his fucking head.

"You're being so nice to me," Spencer answered, and Dave almost protested. He wasn't being nice. Not really. Though he supposed that getting Spencer off the street tonight was merciful, in a sense.

"I want to make you feel good," Spencer continued.

High or not, Spencer had to see who was sitting across the room. Dave had smoked a bit of dope when he was young, but he'd never remembered not knowing what he was doing when he propositioned someone when he was high.

Dave watched Spencer for a long time, and Spencer watched him back, his eyelids seemingly not able to decide if they wanted to stay open or not... and then Dave decided there was only one way to find out if Spencer knew what he was saying or not.

Dave lifted his brows, let his lips quirk to the side, and said, "C'mere," then tried to push down the wave of sickness at the way Spencer immediately slithered out of his seat to the floor and started to _crawl_ toward Dave. God damn it, it _would_ have been sexy in any other situation, but it wasn't now, not like this. What the hell had happened to Spencer for this to have come of it? Dave knew about his childhood. Hell, he'd been there in Vegas to _see_ how badly Spencer's relationship with his father had hurt him. Maybe that case had dredged up too many things... but drugs?

Spencer reached Dave's chair and slid a hand up Dave's thigh. Dave sucked in a breath at the little shiver that caused and closed his hand over Spencer's wrist. "Not so fast, Spencer."

"Mmm," Spencer hummed, and looked up at Dave, his expression positively blissful, in that dazed sort of way. "You want foreplay," he whispered. "I didn't think you were the type. I--" Dave cupped Spencer's jaw and it shut Spencer up, thankfully, but Spencer was still looking up at Dave like he was Father Fucking Christmas. This had to stop.

Dave stroked his fingers up into Spencer's hair and Spencer let his eyes flutter shut. Something in Dave's chest tugged at the sight, but he still turned his hand and yanked a few hairs right out of Spencer's head. Considering it must have hurt, Spencer barely jumped, a testament to how numb he had to be. Still, he sucked in a sharp breath, his expression going just barely angry, no longer too affectionate. Thank God.

Dave held the hair in front of Spencer's eyes and got down low enough to level a glare at Spencer. "I swear to God, if I _ever_ see you like this again, I'll hand these over to Strauss and you'll be out of the BAU so fast it'll make your head spin more than this shit ever could," he growled. He didn't know if he really _would_ do that--he hated Strauss; he'd go to Aaron first, more than likely, to try to _help_ Spencer _and_ keep him on the team--but his words had exactly the right effect.

Spencer's expression went from mildly upset to shocked, his eyes wide. And then, moments later, they started to go glassy and Spencer's lip started to quiver. "I'm sorry--" he breathed, breaking their eye contact. Then he started to pull at Dave's pants button, his movements clumsy and hands shaking hard, as if the act of sucking Dave had become some sort of penance suddenly.

"Spencer, Spencer," Dave said, grabbing Spencer's hands to stop him. "No. That's not-- stop."

Spencer went limp under Dave's hold, and Dave felt his chest squeeze as a tear rolled down Spencer's cheek. "I'm s'sorry," Spencer managed, and then dropped his head to Dave's thigh, his shoulders shaking slightly.

"Jesus, Spencer," Dave grumbled. He let Spencer's hands go when he was certain Spencer wasn't going to keep trying to undress him, and after some hesitation, he rested his hand on the top of Spencer's head. That actually seemed to calm Spencer's quiet sobs a bit, so after a moment, Dave stroked Spencer's hair a little and was rewarded by Spencer calming more. "Let's get you to bed," Dave murmured.

"I have to go home," Spencer protested.

"Don't be an idiot. I have a spare room and we're not on call tomorrow," Dave groused, and stood to pull Spencer to his feet. "You're not leaving here like this."

"David..." Spencer slumped against Dave. "Dave... I need help," he whispered.

Dave sighed. "I know," he said, and started walking them down the hall.

*****

Everything hurt. The pathetic part of it was that the pain was starting to feel normal, just as much as the pleasant numbness that cured it.

Spencer wasn't really sure he wanted to open his eyes, but he forced them open anyway, squinting at the light that filtered into the room. That only made his head hurt worse, and he pulled the covers over him completely until he could think. He'd never really had a problem thinking before the drugs, but now some days it was impossible. When he was shaking and hurting, none of his thoughts would come into focus.

Normally, on mornings like these, he woke with the taste of come in his mouth, or some dirty, sweaty body next to his. This bed felt clean though. That was actually the first clear thought that got through to Spencer: the sheets smelled like they'd been washed and the mattress was soft and comfortable.

He slowly pulled the covers down and blinked around him. It struck him, with a funny sort of shock, that it really shouldn't be more distressing to wake in a house this _nice_ than it was waking in a hovel. As it was, this terrified him more than any place else he'd woken up since his dance with drugs began again... because what would someone who lived like this want with someone like him?

He needed to get the fuck out of here.

Of course, when he slipped out of bed, the next thing he noticed was that _he_ was clean. Which was also unusual on mornings like these, but more unusual was that he wasn't wearing his own clothes. He was wearing a soft, white robe embossed with someone's initials: DJR. The robe was too short for Spencer, but more troubling was that his clothes were nowhere to be found.

"Shit," he hissed, his hands shaking violently as he pulled open drawers quietly.

He supposed he could take a cab wearing a robe. Of course, his keys were in his pants, so how would he get in to his apartment to even get money to pay the guy without breaking a window? How would he even tell the cab driver where to find him to pick him up? He had no idea where he was.

Eventually, he found himself frowning deeply at the telephone in the room, his head throbbing. How the hell could he explain this to Morgan in a way that made sense if he showed up at Morgan's apartment like this? Morgan would pay for his cab, Spencer knew, and Spencer was sure he'd be able to get Spencer into his apartment, given his experience with all his properties, but there was simply no reasonable excuse for showing up like this...

Well, no reasonable excuse but the truth, and that was something Spencer _did not_ want to tell Morgan.

"You don't even know where you are, do you?"

Spencer froze, his back to the door, and a chill swept through him so fast it stole his breath. He knew that voice. _Oh, God. Oh, God_. He had the sudden, overwhelming desire to cry. He was caught. It was over, everything he'd worked so hard to achieve would be gone.

Everything he'd worked so hard to _hide_ was _exposed_.

When he finally turned around, no one was there, and Spencer blinked at the empty doorway. He was imagining things. Hallucinating. How long had it been since his last fix?

He jerked his gaze down to his robe, lifting a finger to scratch a nail over the lettering. "DJR". It was real; the tiny threads played like harp strings under his finger. It was too crisp to be a dream, or even a bad high. Spencer suddenly felt like being violently ill was a better alternative to crying.

He considered climbing out the window. _Seriously_ considered it, for what felt like an eternity, before he forced his feet to move, to leave the room. Dave already knew. Spencer thought he might as well hold onto what scraps of decency he still had--at least in the eyes of his co-workers--and not _run away_. And Dave knew where his clothes were (God, he _hoped_ Dave had found him still wearing them), so maybe they could make this quick and painless.

 _Nothing is painless. Nothing_.

"Hi," Spencer muttered when he found Dave in the kitchen.

"Oh, _hi_ ," Dave replied, dripping false surprise. He was angry, that much was clear. But he was cracking four eggs in a pan, so Spencer sat at the kitchen table and stared at his back.

"Do you have any Tylenol?" Spencer asked quietly, a few minutes later.

"Yes, but I think you should suffer through it," Dave growled.

Spencer frowned, but didn't argue, and Dave continued to cook. Spencer stared at the pattern of the natural tile floor until Dave was finished, wondering if he could get away with just asking for his clothes and leaving. Somehow, he seriously doubted it.

When Dave was finished, he set a plate down in front of Spencer, too hard, that had scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast, and Spencer stared at it for a while as Dave ate. It wasn't until Dave was nearly finished with his own eggs that he looked up. "Eat," he ordered angrily.

"I'm not hungry."

"This explains why you've been looking skeletal lately." Dave stared at him for a moment. His expression was even, but his eyes were angry. "God damn it, Spencer, eat," he said, raising his voice.

"Can you stop yelling at me?" Spencer asked.

"No, I can't," Dave said, without hesitation, and Spencer glared, but picked up his fork and shoveled a few bites of food in his mouth. It made him feel sick.

"You don't remember a damn thing about last night, do you?" Dave asked, after he seemed satisfied that Spencer was at least trying to eat.

Spencer didn't want to answer, so he forced himself to eat more, but Dave wouldn't stop staring at him. After a few moments, he shook his head.

"I don't know why I even bothered to ask." Dave took a bite of his bacon, but his gaze didn't leave Spencer. "I found you crouched in a fucking alley, high out of your head. I probably wouldn't have seen you if you hadn't said my name

Spencer gaze snapped up, surprised.

"Yeah. You said my name."

 _Fuck, that was stupid_ , Spencer thought. Of course, he already knew he was destroying his mind. He didn't care, really, except that it had lead to him getting caught. Maybe, in that moment of weakness, he'd wanted to get caught. Dave was staring at him like he'd come to that conclusion too. It didn't matter, he told himself.

"What were you doing in an alley?" Spencer asked, diverting from the implications of him saying Dave's name.

"I wasn't in the alley; I was walking past. I would have never seen you if you hadn't spoken."

Spencer looked down at the table. "Are you going to turn me in then?" he asked, looking back up and eying Dave over his coffee.

"You don't remember what I told you last night?" Dave said. At Spencer's blank expression, he glowered. "I told you if I ever saw you like that again, I would."

"Why do you care?" Spencer said.

"Well, for one thing, I'm not trusting my life in the field to an agent who could very possibly be messed up on drugs, and I don't think it's fair that _any_ of us do." Dave sighed. "For another, your mind is too beautiful to waste."

"Full is not the same thing as beautiful."

"You're beautiful," Dave insisted.

 _I'm damaged_ , Spencer thought. _I don't know who I am anymore_. He didn't say anything, though. He knew Dave would try to argue with him and he didn't want to hear it.

Dave's gaze was discerning. "The way I see it, you can either take some leave and let me check you into a rehab facility--'

Spencer glared. "I'm not institutionalizing myself," he bit out.

Dave was unfazed. "Or you can stay here for a while."

Spencer's mouth dropped open. "Wha-- Stay here?" he asked, and Dave only shrugged. "Why?"

Dave's brows drew together. "I'm not going to let you fuck up again."

"Why?" Spencer demanded.

"Because I like you," Dave said simply.

"And what if I refuse?"

Dave shrugged again. "I turn the hair I yanked out of your head last night in to Strauss tomorrow."

Spencer sputtered, reaching up to the top of his head with a still shaking hand, as if he might feel the spot where Dave had pulled out hair. Dave wouldn't have really done that, would he? If he had, he wouldn't turn it in... _Oh God_... Hair testing could reveal what he'd been using for the past _three months_...

"I'm dead serious," Dave threatened, and Spencer felt like he was falling.

*****

It was probably a shit idea. Dave knew he'd been watching Spencer. Spencer was difficult not to watch, with his wiry beauty and fascinating mind. He'd also seen the deterioration, but until recently, he hadn't known what was causing it. Inviting Spencer into his house--no, _forcing_ Spencer to accept help from him--was playing with fire.

Spencer was vulnerable now, and Dave knew he had the best of intentions, but there was still an attraction he couldn't quite deny. It had been a feat of sheer willpower not to look at Spencer as he helped him clean up the night before. Still, if he was going to make sure Spencer stayed clean, it was the best option he could think of, short of putting him in a hospital. Of course, once Spencer's body started to detox, Dave was prepared to take him to a hospital whether Spencer wanted it or not. Spencer would have to admit himself, but Dave was very convincing, and if worse came to worse, Dave would take him to an emergency room.

Dave was glad he'd taken Spencer to his apartment early, where Spencer had sat on his couch, arms crossed over himself, glaring at Dave as he packed for Spencer. He looked pale, weak, and he was shaking slightly when he tried to do anything, but he was still managing to look surly.

Dave had started choosing the most horrible things in Spencer's closet, hoping Spencer would intervene when he noticed. Eventually Dave realized that Spencer didn't dress like most people, and he started grabbing the the normal clothes, the rare pair of jeans and some t-shirts. That was when Spencer spoke up.

"I never wear that," Spencer grumbled, then went back into the bedroom with Dave.

"Of course not. You'd look like a normal kid your age," Dave said. 

"Fuck you," Spencer muttered.

Dave held up his hands; Spencer was obviously already feeling tense. "Fine. You pick it. I was trying to do you a favor."

Spencer laughed, but it sounded bitter, then he walked into his closet where he started throwing things around. It was probably unnecessary, but maybe it made Spencer feel better.

Dave sighed. Socks. He'd get socks and... other things. Toiletries. He pulled open a drawer, and the noise in the closet stopped.

"What are you doing?" Spencer said, looking out, and then he came storming across the room. "I can get my own things," he snapped, and slammed the sock drawer shut.

Dave's eyebrows lifted and he stared at Spencer for a moment, then laughed. "Seriously? You hid your drugs in a sock drawer? That's a little cliche, isn't it?"

Spencer's gaze went furious, and his fists balled at his sides. "I wasn't exactly trying to be creative, Dave. It's not like I ever have company. Next time, I'll do a better job."

"There won't be a next time," Dave said, and pulled the drawer back open. Spencer grabbed his wrists, but Dave was stronger, and he found the bags of pills and some syringes. Dave didn't see anything liquid, but he grabbed what he could.

"Dave, don't," Spencer pleaded.

"I'm not going to all this trouble to let you come back here and get fucked up again."

"Please," Spencer said, and he followed Dave to the bathroom, trying to tug him back unsuccessfully. Dave pulled open the toilet lid. "Don't. _Don't_. That wasn't cheap, I--"

"I don't give a damn how much it cost, Spencer. We'll call it a fee for being an idiot." He went to dump the bag, and Spencer grabbed him again, and for a moment, they fought over the bag, wrist over wrist, Spencer's fingers leaving fleeting white marks on Dave's skin where he tried to hold. Finally, Dave grabbed Spencer's wrist and twisted it.

Spencer yelped and dropped to his knees automatically. It wasn't hard enough to really hurt Spencer, but it was just enough to get him off Dave and make it hard for him to get up again.

He dumped the bag, and flushed, and Spencer let out a little whimper.

"You told me you wanted help. You _needed_ help," Dave said.

"I did not," Spencer said. He sounded near tears.

Dave shook his head, not surprised Spencer didn't remember, then untwisted Spencer's arm and let him up. Spencer sucked in a breath and looked like he was going to lunge at Dave for a minute, then he just left the room. 

 

Spencer collapsed in the bed when they came back. "How long?"

"Huh?" Dave asked, frowning at him and unpacking Spencer's things as Spencer lay face down on the bed.

"How long since I went to sleep last night?"

"Twelve hours?" Dave guessed.

"God," Spencer whined, then lifted his arms a little so he could bury his face in them. "Go away."

Dave frowned, and Spencer repeated himself more forcefully, so Dave just finished unpacking Spencer's things without a word. By the time Dave was done, Spencer had dragged every sheet and blanket on the bed over him completely and was huddled under it in a ball.

Dave sighed and did what Spencer had asked him to do, but he left the door open so he heard if Spencer was in distress.

Spencer didn't stay in bed long, though. The trembling got worse as the day went on, and Spencer was getting more irritable by the minute. Dave was starting to worry about this already, so he sat Spencer down after a while.

"What have you been taking?" he asked.

Spencer scowled at him. "Right. I'll just list all my defects for you," he snarled, and Dave frowned deeper.

"Spencer, I need to know when I should be worried, when I need to take you to the hospital."

"Nothing they can do," Spencer said. His gaze was more piercing than Dave had ever seen it, but Dave tried to ignore it. "Alcohol and benzodiazepine withdrawals are the only ones that kill you. The rest of them just make you wish you were dead," Spencer added. "All a hospital can give me is Ativan or Ultram, and I'd rather there not be a record of me going to the hospital for opiate withdrawals, thanks."

Dave drew a deep breath. Spencer was right about not wanting records; none of them knew when they might become the center of any given case and have their history dug into. It had happened before. Dave felt relieved Spencer said he wouldn't die from this, but he still felt anxious. "You're not going to tell me?" he asked.

" _Whatever I could get_ ," Spencer snapped. "Oxycontin was the easiest, but it took a lot more effort when I wanted to shoot it. Dilaudid. Heroin on rare occasions. Is _this_ what you want to know, _Dave_?" The question was almost a threat.

Dave crossed his arms over his chest and sat back. "Yes," he said simply.

"Fuck you," Spencer muttered, and started chewing furiously on one of his nails.

Dave sighed. "What do you want for lunch?"

"Couldn't eat if I wanted to," Spencer said.

Dave held another sigh and went to make himself a sandwich. He couldn't stop the overwhelming desire to hold Spencer and make him feel like it was okay. However, with the way Spencer was behaving, Dave wasn't sure he wouldn't get punched for that. God, it was weird and painful to see Spencer like this. It was almost worse than the night before, if only because Spencer had at least looked happy when he was high. Now Spencer just looked pissed off and sick.

 _It's for the best_ , Dave told himself, not for the first time, and Spencer swore loudly from the other room.

"You okay?" Dave called.

"Physically, mentally, or emotionally?!" Spencer shouted. "Be more specific!"

Dave sighed again, and just kept making his lunch.

 

 

By the time Dave had finished his dinner, Spencer had progressed to pacing. Not in a straight line back and forth, but he was moving aimlessly between rooms. He'd already destroyed the newspaper. He'd started to do the crosswords, but had apparently gotten frustrated and just started stabbing his pen through the paper. The rest of it got torn into shreds, and when Dave had tried to clean it up, Spencer got angry, accusing Dave of not being able to handle the reality of this, of wanting to clean up the nastiness of withdrawal and make it presentable, when Dave had gotten himself into this mess to start with. It was a Goddamned shredded newspaper and it didn't mean any of those things that Dave wanted the mess cleaned up, but Dave just glared at him for a moment, then left the mess where it was. He had been fighting a twitch himself ever since.

After a while, Dave sighed and rubbed his face. Just watching Spencer was making Dave tired. "C'mon, Spencer. Let's just go to bed."

Spencer laughed, a funny laugh Dave had never heard, then said, "And do what? Count sheep?"

"I don't care what you do. You've gotta calm down."

"Fuck you," Spencer muttered. It had quickly become his favorite expression over the last several hours.

"Well, I'm not just going to leave you out here," Dave said.

"What are you going to do? Bring me to bed with you?"

"Last night you didn't think that was a bad idea," Dave countered, and then immediately wished he could take it back when Spencer's gaze went furious, his fists balling up. Dave held up his hands in surrender and stood. "Fine. I'm going to bed," he conceded. "What are you going to do?"

"Try not to slit my wrists," Spencer said.

" _Hey_ ," Dave said. "You come and get me if it gets that bad."

Spencer just snorted.

"Just... stay, okay?"

Spencer made a strange motion somewhere between shaking his head and nodding.

"Promise me you won't leave," Dave said.

"Promise," Spencer spat.

Dave nodded. He gazed at Spencer for a long moment, then left the room.

He hadn't been in bed longer than twenty minutes when he heard his car screech out of the driveway.

*****

Spencer didn't come back that night. Dave wasn't sure whether he should be relieved or not. On one hand, God only knew what Spencer was doing, and he was _driving_. And if Spencer came back, Dave could make sure he stayed safe for the rest of the night, no matter what he'd gotten into already. On the other hand, Dave wasn't looking forward to seeing the state Spencer was in right now.

He stayed up for several hours in the living room before he fell asleep. He woke up early with a crick in his neck, slumped forward in his recliner. He made himself get up and get coffee, but he didn't make breakfast. He went for his cell phone and dialed Spencer's number, only to hear it ring from the other room.

"Damn it," Dave muttered, then scrolled to Hotch's number. He could have easily hit speed dial, but he knew calling Hotch could force Hotch to make a decision neither of them wanted him to, so Dave bought himself time scrolling.

He sat down at the kitchen table and stared at the phone, his thumb hovering over the call button... and then eventually put the phone down and dropped his head into his hands.

That was when he heard the car pull up the driveway. He got up and left his coffee and phone, and headed out the front door. Spencer was sitting in his car, which was undamaged, slumped against the steering wheel.

Dave was hit with a sudden wash of emotions, but even he wasn't sure which was stronger, the relief or the anger. He yanked the car door open, and Spencer's gaze snapped up, red rimmed. Dave grabbed his arm anyway, and dragged him to his feet. "Damn it, Sp--"

"I didn't do anything," Spencer blurted, his expression looking a little like he thought Dave might hit him.

Dave pushed Spencer against the car, then slammed the door and glared at him. "You didn't do anything?" he repeated, his tone incredulous. "You stole my car. You were out all night. You look like shit. You obviously did _something_ ," he accused.

"I didn't. I-- I got a hotel room. I was going to... get something, but I didn't," Spencer insisted.

"Right," Dave said. He locked his car and pulled Spencer back inside the house. He realized as he was doing it that it was stupid. He obviously couldn't _keep_ Spencer here. He couldn't help him if Spencer wouldn't let him.

Spencer didn't resist, though, and he sat down on the couch as soon as they were in the living room, looking nervous. "Can I have a glass of water?" he asked, still looking fearful.

"Get it yourself," Dave growled, and Spencer did. Dave had thrown himself in his chair when Spencer came back, the glass of water shaking in his hands. Dave watched them for a moment, then glared at Spencer again. "All right, enlighten me. What were you doing if you weren't _doing anything_?"

"Nothing," Spencer stammered. He took a long drink, then swallowed so hard Dave could hear him. "I was... I went... I was going to get high... but..." He trailed off, hesitated, then took another drink of water.

Dave snorted. "That doesn't really answer my question."

"I was... not coming back here."

"You were gone because you weren't coming back here?" Dave said. "For a genius, you'd think you could make a little more sense."

"I got scared," Spencer blurted, a hint of irritation creeping into his voice. "I can't-- I--" He drew in a shaky breath, then his eyes welled up.

 _Oh, God._ Dave stared at him, not particularly pleased with the way the scowl on his face insisted on fading. There was no way he could look at Spencer Reid near tears and want to make it worse. Even if he felt like Spencer deserved it.

He crossed his arms over himself and looked away. It was easier to glare at the wall. It didn't look so much like a wounded puppy that needed to be cared for and nursed back to health. Damn Spencer Reid.

Dave sighed. "There's coffee, if you want some," he grumbled, and saw Spencer shake his head out of the corner of his eyes. "Oatmeal?"

"I don't know," Spencer said.

"Have you eaten at all since yesterday morning?"

Spencer silence was answer enough, and Dave got up and left the room, angry at himself for caring whether Spencer had eaten as he heated up some instant oatmeal.

When he got back to the living room, Spencer was sniffling, but seemed to have gotten his emotions back under control anyway. He took the bowl that Dave handed him and pushed the oatmeal around with his spoon.

Dave sat and watched him, and felt relieved in spite of himself when Spencer started to eat. He was taking tiny bites, but he made progress on the bowl as they sat in silence. His shoulders were hunched where he sat, not leaning back against the couch at all.

Dave sighed and dropped his head back against the back of his chair. God, what was he going to do? He wasn't even sure he believed Spencer hadn't done anything. That hurt more than anything. 

"I got scared," Spencer said finally. When Dave looked back, Spencer's half-empty bowl was sitting in his lap, and Spencer was just staring ahead.

"Scared of what?"

"That you'd hate me," Spencer murmured, his voice thick with the tears he wasn't shedding.

Dave had no idea what to say to that. He could never hate Spencer, but didn't want Spencer to know that right now, if it meant he wasn't going to use because of it. Dave just watched Spencer, who fidgeted for a moment.

He put the bowl down on the coffee table, then crossed his legs and arms and sat back. A moment later, he shifted again, and curled his legs under him. "Do you-- are you going to kick me out?"

Dave blinked. "I was under the impression that you didn't want to be here, given how the last twenty-four hours have gone."

"I don't," Spencer said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, and Dave huffed a breath and scrubbed a hand over his face. "But I don't want to be anywhere right now," Spencer added after a moment. "I don't want to _be_."

Dave frowned, and opened his mouth, but Spencer laughed, a bitter laugh. "You have no idea what that feels like, do you?" he asked, looking at Dave.

"How it feels to want to..." _Die_ "...not exist?" Dave asked. When Spencer nodded, Dave shook his head. "No, I don't."

"I want to be left alone. I want to go escape everything I know. I want things to just be easy," Spencer said. "But... I... there's a needle exchange in DC. I bet you didn't know that." His eyes flicked to Dave's, then away, and he picked up his water. "I had it. It... My finger was on the plunger." 

He made a vague gesture towards his arm with one hand, but the other started shaking so badly that he almost spilled his water. He put it down with both hands after taking a long sip. 

"This is it."

Dave's chest was aching. "What's it?"

"This," Spencer said.

And that was all he said. Dave watched him. Spencer opened his mouth, then shut it again, and reached for his water. Spencer really hadn't done anything, had he? And he wasn't leaving again. God help him, if he left after giving Dave this song and dance, Dave might never forgive him; Dave wasn't going to be lied to and made an idiot more than twice. Spencer knew him well enough that Dave sincerely hoped he realized that right now.

Dave wasn't sure if he should ask anything else now that Spencer had gone quiet. He thought he understood what he was capable of understanding, even if what he understood was somewhat abstract. 

"You should have come back last night," he said after a moment, his voice softening. "I almost called Aaron this morning."

Spencer huffed a laugh. "I would have deserved it."

*****

Spencer wasn't using, and that was all Dave seemed to care about. He didn't seem to care that Hotch had apparently noticed they were driving in together. And if Hotch noticed, the team probably did too. Dave just went about work as though nothing was unusual.

The team probably thought they were sleeping together.

Spencer didn't mind the idea so much. He'd always thought Dave was sexy. Except he would rather the team only think that he and Dave were sleeping together if it were true. At least if it were true, they could confront the way everyone seemed to be watching them. Right now the team had no clue what was happening, which was probably a blessing, but the looks Spencer and Dave were getting were still a little annoying. Morgan's especially, who seemed to be making Dave's life more difficult as soon as he realized Dave and Spencer were together in a more "recreational" sense.

Dave was taking it in stride, though. He seemed relatively pleased with their living situation when they weren't arguing. Of course, they were arguing a lot. Spencer felt like his skin might literally tear off. All the time. Like he might _die_ if he didn't go out and score himself _something_ to ease the way his head just wouldn't turn off.

Spencer wondered if the team was noticing that too, and what they thought it meant. He wondered if they were tying it to his and Dave's "new relationship", and that bothered Spencer too.

But they couldn't say anything.

Then again... _Stop thinking_ , Spencer told himself. He tore his gaze away from where Prentiss, Morgan and Garcia were chatting in the kitchenette and looked back at his work. _You could make this all disappear_ , he told himself. _All the self-doubt. All the anxiety. You could shut this voice in your head up if you wanted. Shut me up, Spencer. Life would be simple again_.

"Round table room in five," JJ's voice cut in on his thoughts. Spencer glanced up and gave her a half-hearted smile and a nod.

"Yeah," he said, and started putting things back in the files they belonged in. It made him think about how tidy Dave was... so he just stuffed them in his drawer without finishing the filing. He needed _somewhere_ for his clutter to go, if Dave wouldn't have it.

He made his way up to the meeting room, and JJ briefed them on a case in a tiny town in Kansas, and told them wheels were up in thirty minutes, and then they were leaving to get their go bags.

Hotch touched Spencer's arm on his way out the door. "My office," he murmured, and Spencer swallowed hard and followed Hotch. "Shut the door," he said, and Spencer obeyed, then crossed the room and took a chair when Hotch gestured to it.

Hotch sat behind his desk and folded his hands on the surface. He started speaking slowly, his words measured. "You can't believe that I haven't noticed that something's changed," he said. Spencer just stared at him. "I wanted to make sure you were able to handle this case."

Spencer's mouth dropped open, and then he had to mentally clamp down on his anger. It had been difficult to control lately. It was like his entire emotional state had done a 180. He'd gone from relaxed on the drugs, to ready to bite people's heads off when he was no longer on them.

"Hotch, I'm fine," he managed after a moment, his tone more clipped than it probably should have been.

Hotch's eyebrows lifted. "Are you?"

"Yes," Spencer said.

"Why are you being this defensive, then?"

Spencer again opened his mouth, and then shut it. He had no idea how to respond to that honestly without just blurting out everything to Hotch.

Hotch nodded, and it made Spencer angry again, but Hotch's voice was very gentle when he continued speaking. "Please don't forget that I've seen you like this before. Last time, you almost got yourself killed. Do you remember what I told you on the jet on the way back?"

"You threatened to fire me," Spencer said, frowning.

Hotch nodded again, but looked unfazed. "I'll ask again, then. Are you sure you're able to handle this case right now? No one would think poorly of you if you took a break."

 _Dave would,_ Spencer told himself. _Dave would think I was using the time away from him to get high._ His thoughts broke for a moment, then when they resumed, there was a new tone. _You **could** get high. No one would know_.

Spencer sucked in a breath as a thrill went through him. It wasn't exactly fear. It was a strange combination of fear and loss... loss for the opportunity he was giving up if he went. When he'd gone and wound up in a hotel room that last night he'd tried to use, he'd had the desperate fear that if he didn't stop now, no one else was ever going to help him. It didn't do anything for the longing, though, the regret that lingered over making that choice.

"I'm fine," Spencer said.

Hotch watched him for a long moment, then just said, "See you on the plane."

 

 

The case was mostly a nightmare. Dave was thankful that he and Spencer wound up in adjoining rooms. He wasn't sure if that was an accident, or if JJ thought he and Spencer were an item and wanted to allow them a way to discreetly share a bed.

The idea was still incredibly tempting, but Dave told himself firmly that he didn't need to be seducing Spencer when he was in this state. He didn't need to be seducing Spencer _at all_ , given the way that he was helping Spencer now. Their relationship was forever going to be altered by this.

They were gone for almost a week, and every night got worse than the one before. Spencer started coming in Dave's room earlier each night and raiding the mini-bar. Dave wondered if that was a good idea, but decided it was better than other things, and as long as Dave was there, Spencer wouldn't get in trouble. Or drink too much. Which usually wound up pissing Spencer off, but if Dave didn't want to work with an agent who was high, he was equally against working with one that was hung over. He'd heard somewhere a long time ago that someone with a hangover was just as likely to get in a car accident as someone who was drunk, and he figured those hand-eye coordination skill carried over.

On the fourth night, they cornered the unsub in an alley, and he took out three civilians before the team managed to put him down. It was not the ending they were hoping for, obviously, but it was better than nothing. Strauss was probably going to be all over Aaron, and Aaron looked miserable when they got back to the field office. Of course, Dave was sure he was blaming himself too.

Spencer slipped into Dave's room when they got back to their rooms, and just slumped in the chair across from Dave's bed. After a moment, he got up again and went to the mini-bar.

"Spencer, I'm not sure that's a good idea."

Spencer looked up, his eyes narrowed. "Are we changing the rules?"

Dave huffed a laugh. "What rules?"

"I figured there must be some set of rules we were playing this game by," Spencer said. He put the mini-bottle back in the fridge and sat back down. Dave just went into the bathroom to change into his pajamas.

"You think this is a game?" he asked.

"Do you?" Spencer retorted.

Jesus, Spencer was difficult when he was like this. Dave wondered how much of it was on purpose and how much of it was that he was still on edge from being sober. It had only been a little over a week. "No," Dave said finally.

"Then you can't change the rules," Spencer said, sounding annoyed. When Dave came back out in his flannels, Spencer had a drink. He'd poured one for Dave too. "You especially can't change the rules on a day like this."

"Are you trying to drive me crazy, Spencer?" Dave asked.

"Not at the moment."

Dave watched him, then took his drink and sat on the edge of the bed, giving Spencer a small toast before taking a drink. "Should we establish rules?"

Spencer just shrugged, looking like he didn't really _want_ to say yes.

"All right. Rule one, no drugs after tonight. Not even alcohol."

"Are you going to follow the rules too, or am I doing this alone?"

Dave blinked at him. Well, it wasn't really fair that he should have to stop drinking just because Spencer couldn't control himself. But Dave just couldn't say that. He wasn't sure why, and in fact, he was a little pissed at himself for it, especially when the next thing that came out of his mouth was, "Would it help if I did?"

"Yes," Spencer said simply, but he sort of got the feeling Spencer was just trying to spite him now.

"Fine," Dave said, biting down on the edge that wanted to creep into his voice. "No more scotch for me either."

"No matter how bad the case?" Spencer asked.

"No matter how bad." Dave shifted and took a long drink. He might as well enjoy his last damn drink. "You have to stay with me at all times. This means no skipping out on cases."

Spencer frowned. "Why would I--"

"Look, I know Hotch has been watching us. I have a pretty good feeling I know why he called you into his office. I don't want you to have any excuse not to have to look me in the eyes a few times a day. I don't really know a whole lot about what this shit you were doing does to you, but I know what you look like when you're not high."

For one thing, Spencer never looked quite so much like he wanted to hit Dave like he did now when he was high. Dave wasn't sure if that was comforting or not.

"You don't trust me?" he accused.

"You're here when you obviously aren't really entirely back to yourself," Dave said. "Do _you_ trust you?"

"Fuck you," Spencer grumbled.

Dave rolled his eyes. "And it starts." Spencer glared, and Dave inclined his head. "No, please, go on. Get it all out, and then we can go back to what we were talking about."

Spencer looked like he might shoot Dave if he thought he could get away with it. Sometimes, even if it wasn't comforting, is was still sort of amusing. 

"That it this time?" Dave said. "Okay. What else?"

"How about you not patronizing me?" Spencer snapped.

"How about you act in such a manner that it's not so damned easy?" Dave replied.

"Dave, you have no idea what I'm going through right now, so you can just can the holier than thou routine."

"Holier than thou? No. Maybe more level headed than thou. More sober than thou. More capable of rational thought than thou. But certainly not holy," Dave said.

Spencer clenched his jaw, then let out an exasperated breath. "God, you're so..."

"Yeah." 

Dave shook his head and took another drink. Spencer downed his drink and made himself another, then he tossed another mini-bottle across the room to Dave.

"Anything else?" he asked.

Dave shrugged. "Should there be?"

Spencer shrugged too, and was silent for a long moment. Finally, he sighed. "It was a kid," he murmured.

Dave looked up, suddenly dragged back to earlier in the day. "Yeah," Dave said. "Sometimes we're too slow."

Spencer nodded, and Dave sat back in bed. He stretched out, leaning against the headboard and watching Spencer. After a moment, Spencer glanced up and looked back. "Hang on a sec," he said, then went into his room. 

When he came back, he was wearing his own pajamas, and he slumped back into the chair. God, he was adorable. It was green and red flannel, and he looked like a kid ready for Santa.

Except, of course, for the deep frown on his face and the glass of whiskey in his hands.

"How does this work, Spencer?" Dave asked after a moment, holding up his glass.

"Huh?" Spencer said, and Dave shook the glass. "Um... ethanol is a potent central nervous system depressant, though the way that it affects people varies greatly by--"

Dave laughed. "That's not what I meant," he said, then his expression turned thoughtful again. "This doesn't... make you want to... you know...?"

Spencer laughed quietly. "It does. It's a substitute. But I'm, ah, it's not my drug of choice. It's nice to a point, but it doesn't feel as... clean. That probably doesn't make sense."

Dave watched him. It didn't make sense to him, but he wasn't going to say that. "This isn't going to turn you into an alcoholic, is it?"

"An addict is an addict is an addict," Spencer said, and downed what was left in his glass.

"That doesn't really answer my question," Dave said, watching him.

"It's different for everyone--"

"And yet 'an addict is an addict is an addict'?"

Spencer gave him a look. "At the core." Spencer shook his head. "A recovering junkie may start drinking because they think that because alcohol is legal, it's not as bad as what they were doing before. Physically, it's actually worse, but that's beside the point. The point is... what an addict does or doesn't do has more to do with how honest they are with themselves than anything else."

"How honest are you with yourself?" Dave said.

"Depends on the subject," Spencer said vaguely. Dave gave him a look, and Spencer sighed. "It's not a great idea for me to drink because it makes me crave other things, but in the long run, if I'm going to use, it won't be alcohol. I don't like the feeling as much."

Dave sighed. "We should stop."

"Too late now, and if this is the last time for a while..."

"Spencer," Dave said.

"What? I'm fine," Spencer replied. "Promise."

Spencer was very far from fine, and the last time Spencer had promised him something, he'd broken it... but Dave decided not to push it; he'd give Spencer another chance and hope he didn't regret it.

"It was a bad case," Spencer added.

"This is the last time."

Spencer nodded, and poured himself another drink, then Dave remembered the bottle Spencer had tossed him and poured for himself too. For a while, they drank in silence, and eventually, Dave turned the TV on. Spencer craned around in his chair to watch it. He couldn't have been interested at all. Dave had stopped on baseball. But Dave supposed it was easier for Spencer to pretend to be interested in the TV than talk about what they had been talking about.

After a while, Spencer cleared his throat, and Dave glanced over at him. Spencer gestured awkwardly at the empty side of the bed. "D'you mind?"

A thrill shot through Dave. Spencer was asking to share his bed. Somehow this was nothing like what Dave had hoped this would be like if it ever happened, but he still couldn't help the underlying excitement.

He shrugged. "Sure," he said casually, and Spencer grabbed two more bottles and crossed the room. 

He handed one to Dave, then poured himself a new glass. His cheeks were rosy.

"They're just running around a circle," he said after a moment.

"Diamond," Dave said.

Spencer shrugged. "Could be a ruby for all I care."

Dave glanced over at Spencer. That was a bad joke, even for him. He was definitely already feeling the whiskey.

"Wow," Dave said. "A new low."

Spencer snorted. "Shut up."

That was better than 'fuck you' at least. Dave found himself smiling faintly, in spite of being extremely aware of how close Spencer was. "Give me that," Dave said, and took Spencer's glass. He downed the contents before Spencer could stop him, then did the same to his own.

"Hey," Spencer complained.

"You don't need anymore until your stupid jokes are at least halfway intelligent again."

Spencer gave him a grumpy look, and slumped, turning back to the TV. "Oxymoron. Stupid jokes that are intelligent."

" _Bad_ jokes, then," Dave said. and shook his head, putting their glasses down.

Spencer nodded. "That at least makes a little more sense."

Dave made a wordless noise, then turned his attention back to the game. They didn't really say anything after that. The fifth inning passed, then the sixth. Then at the start of the seventh inning, Spencer's weight pressed against Dave's shoulder.

"Spencer," Dave said, but quickly realized Spencer was asleep. Shit.

Dave's heart started pounding in his chest. Spencer was asleep in his bed, pressed up against him. Dave shifted a little, but didn't go far, not wanting to wake Spencer. He wasn't sure why, exactly. That's what he _should_ do. He should wake Spencer up and take him back to his room.

But Dave didn't really want to do that at all. He wanted to settle them both down and sleep like this, with Spencer in his pajamas, pressed up against Dave. Dave tried to tell himself it was because he felt like he was charged with protecting Spencer lately, but he knew that wasn't really the reason.

"Mmm," Spencer mumbled, then shifted down onto the mattress himself.

"Spencer," Dave said again. He was going to do the right thing if it killed him. If Spencer woke up on his own, that was. "Spencer."

"Shh," Spencer whispered. "Quiet."

Dave stared down at him for a long moment. He supposed he could go sleep in Spencer's bed. Or on the couch. But after some thought, Dave flipped the TV off and settled down next to Spencer. Spencer was in _his_ damn bed. And Spencer had gotten drunk knowing full well where he was.

Dave watched Spencer for a moment, the slow rise and fall of his chest, the calm to his features that was never there lately. He really was beautiful, just like Dave had told him, and it wasn't just his mind that was beautiful. 

_Get out of this bed right now_ , he told himself, but instead he just closed his eyes, trying to ignore the way this felt good _and_ the guilt that accompanied that feeling.

 

Spencer woke up with a mild headache and a dry mouth... and the heat of another body next to his. A thrill of panic when through him. What had he done? He'd blown it. He'd fucked up. He-- was lying in bed with David Rossi.

Spencer blinked at the back of Dave's head for a long moment. _I'm lying in bed with Dave_. His heart was still thudding against his chest, the fear that he'd gone out and gotten high again still lingering, even now that he knew that wasn't the case. Slowly the events of the night before started filtering in.

Rules. Whiskey. Baseball.

He hadn't been drunk, but apparently he'd been tired and Dave hadn't bothered to wake him up. Spencer had to admit that waking up with someone he knew would never hurt him, someone who knew him and liked him, was nice. He just wasn't sure if this would be awkward when Dave got up.

He slipped out of bed, and cleaned up the empty mini-bottles that were lying around. Dave hadn't even done that. It was strange, but Spencer didn't spend too much time thinking on it. Instead, he went into the bathroom and started the coffee maker, which he quickly discovered was broken.

He slipped into his room and dialed the front desk so he didn't wake Dave, but when they knocked on the door with a new one, Dave stirred.

"Thanks," Spencer told the girl, then turned to look at Dave. "The pot was cracked," he explained. Dave just blinked at him blearily, then closed his eyes again.

"Time'sit?"

"Nine-ish," Spencer said. He watched Dave press his face to the pillow. "Sorry I crashed here."

Dave just made a muffled noise into the pillow and flapped a hand dismissively.

Spencer turned back and watched the coffee brewing, dark liquid dripping into the carafe. He could hear Dave shifting in the covers, then Dave groaned. When Spencer turned back, Dave had swung his legs over the edge of the bed and was rubbing his eyes. His hair was a mess.

Dave didn't have his gun on him, but Spencer was pretty sure if he told Dave he looked adorable, Dave would _find_ his gun and use it.

"You take it black, right?" Spencer muttered, and Dave made a noise that Spencer assumed meant yes. He poured them both a cup, and used Dave's sugar and creamer packets in addition to his own. When he walked back in the room, Dave grunted his thanks as he took the cup.

"And I thought I had trouble waking up," Spencer said. Of course, he'd woken up in a state of sheer terror, so that had helped a lot. 

Dave arched a brow. "D'it bother you that much waking up with me? Promise I was a gentleman."

Spencer snorted, but didn't say anything. He didn't want to say why he was awake as he was, and telling Dave that chivalry was optional wasn't going to happen.

"Maybe the next rule should be that we shouldn't share a bed anymore unless we plan to do something to make all those looks we've been getting actually mean what their meant to mean."

Dave frowned. "Come again?"

"I haven't come to begin with," Spencer said, and then immediately felt his cheeks go hot. God, this was _David Rossi_. This was his colleague, his friend, and in some respects, his mentor. This wasn't some sickly junkie he'd woken up next to that he could pretty much say whatever he wanted to.

Dave was just staring at him, and Spencer scrubbed a hand over his face. "Sorry. Sorry. I'm-- it's early."

"I would ask who you are and what you did with Spencer, but considering the reason I dragged you into my house, there's obviously a lot about you I would have never expected," Dave said.

Spencer cleared his throat. "Do you regret learning it?"

Dave tilted his head. "I regret the circumstances," he said.

Spencer swallowed hard and nodded, not really sure how he should take that, or how he should respond. They just sat in silence and drank their coffee for a while. Eventually Spencer flipped on the news, and Dave settled back in bed to watch. The plane didn't leave until noon. The team had all been out so late the night before, they just wanted to crash and worry about flying home later.

Spending the first day of their weekend in a tiny hotel in Kansas really wasn't ideal, but none of them had the energy to be in a hurry home. Only JJ had left the night before to go be with Henry.

Spencer didn't really feel like leaving the room, but he knew eventually he should. He sighed and pushed out of his chair. "There's more coffee," he said, then went back to his room. Dave looked up from his coffee, watching him, but he didn't say anything to stop him.

He found himself feeling oddly alone when he closed the door behind him. Well, he _was_ alone, but he just hadn't expected the feeling to hit him quite so fast. He flopped onto his still-made bed, and flipped the TV on. Then he huffed a laugh. He could have just as easily watched the news with Dave.

 _He's making you live with him. Enjoy being away from him_ , he thought, then added a _Bastard_ , for good measure.

He had been staring at the TV long enough for one show to end and another to begin when there was a knock on his door. Spencer sighed and got up. When he opened the door, Morgan was on the other side with two cups of coffee.

"Hey," Spencer said, knowing he looked confused. He took the coffee anyway. Morgan knew just what he liked.

"Hey, man," Morgan said, inviting himself in. "Plans for breakfast?"

Spencer shrugged and ran his fingers through his hair. "They serve breakfast here, don't they?" he said.

"If you haven't gotten it, you missed it. Ended at 9:30."

"Ah," Spencer said. "No, I don't have plans. You?"

"I was planning to take you out, if you can find it in you to put on some real clothes," Morgan said, grinning. 

Spencer sat on the edge of the bed, then sipped his drink. It was perfect, chocolaty and creamy. When he glanced up, he realized Morgan's smile had faded. Spencer frowned, then realized Morgan was staring at the comforter, which was still folded neatly up under the pillows. His eyes flicked to the door between Spencer and Dave's rooms next, then his lips pressed together into a thin line.

"I have some real clothes," Spencer said, sipping his drink again and not meeting Morgan's gaze.

"Are they in here?" Morgan asked, and Spencer looked up to see Morgan was just waiting for Spencer to have to go in the next room to grab his things. 

God, he hated this. He couldn't explain, and Morgan was probably thinking he was keeping things from him. Well, he was, but not what Morgan thought. It was amazing how some of the best trained profilers could get things so totally wrong. Of course, Spencer imagined that his friends would probably rather think Spencer was getting laid than think he was a junkie.

"Yeah," Spencer said finally. "Most of my things are already packed, actually." He never unpacked his things in a hotel room. He preferred to just live out of his bag, if it was a short case. "It won't take me long at all," he added, and got up to go to the bathroom and change.

When he came out, Morgan was hunched over on the bed, looking somewhere between hurt and angry. Spencer hoped this wasn't going to be a painful breakfast. "Ready," he said, and Morgan glanced up.

"What do you want, kid?" Morgan asked, and Spencer's heart sank a little. Morgan never called him 'kid' anymore unless he was trying to distance himself.

"Pancakes?" Spencer said.

Morgan nodded. "And more sugar for my man," he said, and wrapped his arm around Spencer as they left the room.

 

Spencer was waiting for the questions to start once he and Morgan got to the restaurant, but Morgan actually waited a surprisingly long time. He was letting Spencer go on about the archaeological history of the town they were in, though, which was a sure sign that he was just letting Spencer relax before he jumped. Knowing that didn't really help Spencer relax.

They were nearly done eating when Morgan finally said, "So are you ever going to tell me about Rossi?"

Spencer froze for a moment, then reached for his coffee. What was there to tell? What _could_ he tell? He trusted Morgan with a lot of his troubles, but Spencer wasn't even fond of the idea that even one of his teammates knew the sort of state he was in.

Spencer finally shrugged. "There's really nothing to tell," he said.

Morgan gave him a flat look. "You didn't sleep in your own bed last night," he said bluntly.

Spencer's lips parted, and then he shook his head faintly. "We were talking and I drank too much. He didn't want to wake me up."

"Well, that's sweet of him," Morgan said, his tone taking on a slightly sarcastic tone. "C'mon, man. You can't tell me your relationship with him hasn't changed, and everyone knows that."

Spencer swallowed hard. "Yeah," he admitted.

"You should know I don't give a damn if you like guys," Morgan said.

"I know." And Spencer _did_ know that. Spencer felt okay that so far he hadn't had to outright lie to Morgan, even if he wasn't exactly telling the whole truth, just letting Morgan draw his own conclusions.

Morgan tilted his head. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.

Spencer bit his lip. That was one he didn't feel like he could answer truthfully, so he just shrugged and shifted in his seat.

Morgan watched him for a moment, as if gauging how uncomfortable Spencer was. After a moment he sighed. "Is he good to you?"

Spencer looked back up from his coffee and stared at Morgan for a moment. Was Dave good to him? There were times lately that Spencer sort of hated Dave... but that wasn't really Dave's fault, if Spencer was completely honest.

Spencer took a long sip of his coffee, and put it down, fiddling with the glass for a moment. "Yes."

Morgan nodded slowly. "Good," he said. "That's all I care about."

*****

The whiskey had been a bad idea. A worse idea than Spencer had expected. He hadn't thought anything of it at the time. Alcohol was not his drug of choice. He didn't like the feeling of being drunk as much as he did being high... but the sedating effects of the liquor had been nice. It had let his mind go for a little while, enough so that he felt comfortable enough just sleeping in Dave's bed.

For a few days after, Spencer was totally fine, too. But somewhere in the middle of the week, Spencer started to find himself feeling twitchy again. He couldn't go out and score anything, but he was getting home earlier than Dave most nights. He could have a few sips of alcohol if he wanted. Just enough to take the edge off. It was against the _rules_ , but rules were made to be broken.

Somehow he didn't think Dave saw it that way, but he didn't really feel like thinking about it right now. He didn't really feel like _thinking_ right now at all. That was the problem, really, even on a very basic level.

 _You're broken. You're a parrot, spouting off facts, when nothing's really inside but this hole._ Numbness wasn't the best thing to fill the hole with, but some days it seemed like the only thing he could think of.

Spencer was taking the VRE home so he didn't have to wait on Dave's paperwork (and fanmail reading), and it was only a short walk to Dave's house from the closest station. About a week after the case in Kansas had ended, Spencer found himself going straight to the drinks cabinet on the way in the house.

He stared at it for a moment. "It's okay," he whispered. "It's just a drink."

He opened the cabinet door and pulled out a bottle of scotch. He sighed. He _had_ promised Dave than he wouldn't drink or do anything else. And the last time he'd promised Dave something, he'd broken it.

He stood there and tried to remember the fear he'd felt the night in the hotel room, the fear that Dave would never forgive him. If he broke _another_ promise, Dave probably wouldn't this time.

Spencer opened the bottle and lifted it, taking in a long whiff of the bitter-smelling liquid inside.

_If you don't get caught, he'll never know you broke your promise. He's probably been drinking when you're not here anyway. Sure he has. He thinks he can just make you think he's playing along, but you know him better than that._

Spencer sighed and put the bottle down. He scrubbed a hand over his face, then reached for the cabinet door to get a glass. When he put it down and picked up the bottle, something caught his eye. He lifted it to look, and found a black line drawn horizontally on one side of the label.

When Spencer put the bottle down, he realized Dave had marked it at the exact level the alcohol rose to.

Spencer clenched his teeth, anger surging through him, then slammed his fist against the table top. "Fuck," he hissed. Dave didn't trust him?!

He put the glass back hastily, then threw open the cabinet drawer to put the bottle back, slowing for a second to make sure he put it back exactly the way he'd found it. When he stood and shut the door, he had to resist the urge to kick it in.

Dave didn't trust him. _You don't deserve his trust_. Dave thought he was going to break their rule. _You were going to break the rule_. Dave thought he couldn't control himself. _**You can't**_.

"Fuck," Spencer growled. "I can." He ran his fingers through his hair and tightened them until it hurt his scalp. "I can."

_Dave doesn't trust you. He's right not to._

"Shut up," Spencer said. "God, I'm talking to myself."

 _If you drank every last drop in the cabinet, you could probably be dead before he came home_.

Spencer growled and tugged his hair again, as if the pain might make the thoughts in his mind stop. But it didn't work.

_This would be over. It would all be over. You wouldn't have to struggle. He wouldn't have be your fucking warden. You could be free of all of this._

"No," he said, but now his eyes were stinging. "No," he repeated, then walked down the hallway. "Mom. It would kill her. The team would be fine without me, but I'd always be the tragic one. 'Isn't it so sad'. I don't want that.... Might make Dad finally regret not knowing me, though," he finished bitterly, then shook his head. "No. Mom matters more."

He started stripping off his clothes as soon as he got to the bedroom, and turned on the bath water as hot as he could stand it.

"It might hurt," he said after a moment. "But it would be over fast." He groaned. Somehow he kept trying to justify killing himself when it was the thing he was trying to keep from doing.

At the last second, Spencer walked back out of the bedroom and to the kitchen, hoping to God Dave wasn't going to come home and find Spencer walking around naked. He grabbed a bag of chips and started to leave, then turned back for some of the hard candy Dave had in a bag in the pantry. He grabbed a Coke, and went back down the hall, locking himself in the room, and then in the bathroom.

_You could drown yourself, but that might take too much effort trying to suppress the natural urge to get up when you start to panic._

"Shut up!" Spencer finally shouted, and pressed a hand to his eyes. God, he was going crazy.

He shut the water off, and climbed into the tub, belatedly wishing he'd thought of bubbles. He set his Coke and the candy on the edge, the chips on the floor, and started furiously unwrapping the little sugary pieces and popping them into his mouth.

After chewing up about four, he popped another one in his mouth and closed his eyes. The warmth of the water was starting to soak up some of his anger and frustration, and as cliche as it sounded, he somehow thought the sugar helped.

He slipped below the water, and stayed there, his body swaying a little with the movement of the water.

_You could still drown yourself. You're a genius. You could out-think your panic until you passed out._

He hesitated, then shook his head slowly in response to his own thoughts. His hair floated across his eyes, and he pushed up out of the water again.

 

Dave got home later than usual, but when he got there, he found Spencer just sitting in front of the TV with a bag of Doritos. A bag that hadn't been opened yesterday, but was mysteriously almost empty now. 

"I'm glad I didn't pick up supper," he said, and Spencer just made a noise that didn't seem to mean anything and shrugged.

"Oh really?" Dave said, and Spencer glared.

Dave was getting sick to death of the glaring. Spencer seemed to have two modes lately, snippy and sulky. Dave made a face and went in to the kitchen to find he was low on Cokes too. He sighed, but didn't comment this time, and started making himself something to eat.

Spencer hadn't moved when he came back to the living room, and Dave gestured at his recliner. "This seat taken?" he asked.

Spencer snorted, but didn't say a word.

"You know, I always have enjoyed my own company, but a little communication would be nice, considering you're sleeping in my house and eating all my food."

Spencer sighed. "How was work?"

Dave rolled his eyes and looked at the TV. Spencer knew damn well how work had been. If Spencer wasn't even going to try, neither was Dave, so he just sat there and ate. Spencer didn't seem the least bothered by the silence.

After a while, Spencer curled up on his side... then got up again to throw away the bag of chips. He came back with a Popsicle. "I'll pay for them, if it's money you care about."

Dave shook his head. Quite frankly, it was nice to see Spencer start to put on a little weight. He was already looking healthier than he had before.

"I don't really care," Dave said. "But if you eat the last Fudge Round, I'm going to have to strangle you."

Spencer huffed a laugh, then continued eating his Popsicle. He didn't speak for a while, and Dave had nearly given up on the prospect of any real conversation for the night when Spencer finally did. 

"I didn't ask for this," he said.

Dave blinked at him for a moment, then said the first thing that came to mind, even if he didn't think he knew what Spencer was talking about. "Grape is my least favorite. It's what you're stuck with."

"Stop being obtuse." Spencer shifted onto his back and looked at Dave.

"Didn't ask for what? Living here? Yeah, I know," Dave said.

"There's that," Spencer said, and sighed. "Drugs. This whole thing."

"I don't think anyone ever does," Dave said, perking up a little mentally. He always wanted to make sure he was really listening, in top form, when Spencer started to talk about these things.

"Some people do," Spencer argued. "Some people go out and look for drugs. Some people want it."

"And what do you think you've been doing?" Dave asked, frowning.

"No, I meant at first," Spencer said. "I never wanted this. I never would have tried anything like this on my own. I know what it does to you. To me... It's not fair."

"Spencer, you chose--"

"No, I didn't," Spencer snapped. He sat up and gave Dave that piercing look Dave was getting used to. "I didn't. I had-- My blood... my veins were raped. I was forced."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dave said, his heart starting to ache a little.

"Tobias Hankel? You've heard of him?" When Dave nodded, Spencer went on. "I was the agent he took. _He_ did this to me."

Dave shook his head. "You're shifting the blame."

"You don't know," Spencer insisted. "You don't know, David. I was there. I _died_. If I had just..."

"You died?" Dave said.

"Yes, I--"

"So you decided to see if you could do it again? Jesus, Spencer--"

" _I_ didn't do it!"

"But _you_ kept doing it," Dave snapped, glaring. "You kept doing it, Spencer, and you're smart enough to know that you had a choice."

Spencer looked halfway between screaming and throwing up.

"Yeah, I know, fuck me," Dave grumbled.

"It's not my fault," Spencer said after a long silence, his voice going small suddenly. "Just... all this stuff. I just kept remembering all this stuff, and then I came back, and I kept seeing myself in all our victims, and I..."

"That's not a very good reason to screw yourself up so badly that you can't help them," Dave said.

Spencer pressed his lips together angrily and shook his head. A second later, and he had to quickly lick off Popsicle juice that was running down his finger.

"It's a good reason to want to escape," he said after a moment.

"Hey, guess what? You're not the only one who wants that sometimes."

"I would have been fine if--"

"Who cares?" Dave asked, and Spencer gaze snapped back up to him, his eyes half stunned and half angry. "Who cares what might have happened? The ifs don't make a damn bit of difference now. I'm not going to sit here and say 'oh, what tough luck'. We play with the cards we're dealt."

Spencer stared at him for a long moment, then laid back down, looking completely unhappy. "I always cheat."

Dave huffed a laugh. "Well, you can't this time."

*****

The next morning, Spencer was surlier than usual. He barely said a word as they ate and got ready for work. The drive to the BAU was nearly silent as well, until they got a few blocks from the parking garage.

"Are you going to ignore me all day?" Dave finally asked.

"As much as possible," Spencer said.

"What grave sin did I commit this time?" Dave said.

Spencer's lips thinned but he didn't say anything. Dave had a feeling he knew anyway. Dave hadn't let him justify his behavior the night before. He hadn't approached the conversation with sympathy. 

It wasn't as though Dave didn't care. It's just that he knew this wasn't a situation where babying someone would do any damn good. He might as well just tell Spencer that he understood now and he could go back to the drugs if he wanted because it all made sense, if he was going to coddle Spencer. It would send the same message, even if Spencer knew damn well Dave didn't want him using. It would say, indirectly, that Dave would forgive him if he used again, because now he _understood_.

Dave understood perfectly well. He understood that Spencer knew just how to manipulate people if he wanted to. He knew Spencer probably knew how to use those puppy eyes. He knew that people wanted to protect him. And because he knew that, he expected people to go soft on him.

That wasn't going to happen. It was tough love or nothing.

Dave made an unhappy noise when they parked. "Well, put your game face on. It's work time," he muttered, and he saw Spencer turn to look at him. If Dave turned around, Spencer would be glaring, but Dave didn't bother to look. 

"Have I mentioned how much I like being told how to act?" Spencer said.

Dave shrugged. "It was a lucky guess."

Spencer held a frustrated noise badly, then grabbed his satchel and got out of the car. He followed Dave up to the office wordlessly, and then they both split off in different directions when they came in. Dave headed to his office, and Reid for his desk, and Dave knew they both probably looked angry. He saw both Aaron and JJ watch them for a moment before going back to what they were doing.

Dave shut himself in his office most of the day, coming out for coffee and to talk to Emily a few times. Hotch grabbed him on his way back to his office on one of those times he headed back.

"Yeah?" Dave said when Aaron called his name. He poked his head in to see Hotch watching him. He didn't say anything for so long that Dave glanced back out the door. "Should I come in and shut this?" he asked, looking back.

Hotch shook his head slowly, then his eyes darted to the bullpen--to _Spencer_ \--and back to Dave. "I just wanted to say thank you."

Dave blinked at him. Then he opened his mouth and nothing came out. 

"He's looking better," Hotch said, his tone quiet and conversational. "Much."

Dave just stared another moment, then nodded. "Yeah," he said.

Aaron nodded. "That's all I had to say."

Dave watched him for another long moment, then nodded back and walked back to his own office. He couldn't help that Hotch's words lightened him a little. Maybe that was the point. The tension today was probably obvious.

But Spencer _was_ doing better. He was being a little shit, but otherwise he was okay. Dave took a moment to wonder if anyone else on the team could have even put up with living with Spencer through this.

Of course, that led to dangerous thinking, that they were good for each other. Dave shook himself and went back to work. Once he'd put those thoughts out of his mind, his mood started to lift.

 _He's looking better_.

God, it was ridiculous, given Dave's age and the fact that Dave had known Hotch when he was still green, but there was still something very special about a compliment from Hotch, particularly where it mattered.

 

The next time Dave went down from his office for coffee, he was half-smiling in spite of the fact that Spencer was at the kitchenette. Dave slid up to the counter and reached across Spencer for a sponge to clean out his cup.

"Excuse you," Spencer hissed.

Dave just snorted, but as he moved around the other side of Spencer, he caught a whiff of something. His smile slipped off. "Have you been smoking?" he asked.

Spencer froze for a half-second, then badly hid it and turned to face Dave. "What?"

"You've been smoking," Dave said, because now he was sure it was smoke he was smelling, and it wasn't faint enough for Spencer to have just been around someone smoking.

Spencer hesitated, then shrugged. "So?"

"So?" Dave repeated under his breath. "Are you determined to find _some_ way to kill yourself?"

Spencer scowled. "Fuck you."

"Damn it, Spencer, have you ever noticed you usually say that when I've caught you in something you can't defend?"

Spencer looked about ready to throw back a retort, but then just gave Dave an angry look. "I needed something to calm me down, and since I'm not allowed to do anything else, per _the rules_ , I--"

"Tobacco isn't a drug now?" Dave said.

"F--" 

Dave lifted his eyebrows, waiting for the '--uck you', but it didn't come. 

"What do you want from me, David? I'm doing the best I can," Spencer said, his voice a little louder.

"I want you to try to--"

"I am trying," Spencer snapped, and this time an intern near them turned to look.

Dave clenched his jaw. "We'll talk about this at home," he said.

"Oh good, _home_ ," Spencer said, and stormed off to his desk. About three seconds later, he realized he forgot his coffee and stormed back, but with that, the effect he had obviously been going for was lost. 

Dave didn't fail to notice the way Morgan and JJ were watching Dave when he left the bullpen, though. They seemed to lapse into some heated conversation once he got far enough away, and Dave headed up the ramp.

Dave barely stopped himself from slamming the door. If he wasn't trying to save Spencer's life, he'd kill him. They'd made a damn spectacle of themselves in front of the team, and he'd be lucky if he didn't wind up hearing about it from Hotch later. There went Hotch being proud of what Dave was trying to do.

There was a brisk knock at Dave's door a few minutes later. It hadn't been nearly long enough for Dave to have even begun calming down. 

"Damn it," Dave grumbled. And there Hotch was now. "Come in," he groused, and the door opened and shut. He wasn't looking up from his desk, but there was a presence that was distinctly _not_ Hotch standing just inside the door. When Dave glanced up, it was JJ standing there.

"Can I have a word with you?" she said.

Dave couldn't help the way he just stared at her for a moment. "Sure," he said finally, then gestured to a seat in front of his desk. JJ didn't move.

"What's going on with you and Spencer?" she asked abruptly.

Again, Dave found himself just staring at her. 

"You have to know everyone is going to be talking about what just happened soon, and I think we should know what's going on."

Dave shrugged. "I've never really concerned myself with gossip before, JJ, and I don't plan to start now," he said.

"Don't avoid my question," she said.

He frowned. "I'm not entirely sure why it's anyone else's business," he said, watching her. 

"I like you, Dave. We all like you, but frankly, we're all aware of your reputation."

Dave really wished she'd stop saying things that he had no idea how to respond to. "Come again?"

"I'm not saying this because I care about any of that. What I care about is that... you had better be treating Spencer the way he deserves."

Oh God, everyone still assumed this was about sex, didn't they? Dave's eyebrows lifted. "Am I getting the 'what are your intentions?' speech?" he asked. _Oh my God_. 

"It's not funny," she said.

"Oh, you have no idea how funny it actually is," Dave said, and couldn't help that his lips quirked a little. "Next there's going to be 'if you hurt him, I swear to God, I'll kill you' threats, right?"

Her jaw clenched. "Keep going and I might make that threat without that sort of motivation."

Dave held up his hands in mock surrender. "I'm not hurting him. Ask him."

"I can't ask him," JJ retorted. "He's... he'll feel like I'm trying to mother him."

"Aren't you?" Dave said, and she gave him a look.

"He doesn't need to know it. At least not when it comes to something he seems to be trying so hard to keep secret." She tilted her head at him. "I'm not sure why you two do keep it secret. It's not like anyone cares. Actually, I think people would be less on edge about it if you two just came out with it."

 _JJ, Emily, Morgan, Garcia, Reid's a drug addict and I'm making him live with me until he cleans up_ , Dave thought, vaguely amused. No, that really wasn't an option. He couldn't really ignore the way the idea that no one would mind if he _was_ with Reid romantically excited him a little.

"You don't know the whole story," he said finally.

"Enlighten me."

"Not my story to tell," he said.

She made a noise that didn't sound very satisfied. "I used to think you and Emily bickered like an old married couple, but now I think she has some competition."

"I'm sure she's heartbroken."

*****

Spencer glowered at the pack of cigarettes in his hand. It was stupid to smoke. He knew that. He didn't even really like it all that much, but it did help him stop twitching. One of the guys in evidence had just given him the last few cigarettes he'd had left in his pack after Spencer had bummed a few.

Spencer thought the guy was just amused that the genius Doctor Reid would smoke.

When he got home, he put them aside, but the longer he tried futilely to fill his time, the more tempting they got. There wasn't much that kept his mind occupied for long stretches of time, so his mind just kept going back to what had happened earlier in the day.

If he was honest, he was starting to feel a little guilty. It wasn't as though he hadn't realized how difficult he was being. He felt on edge, and it was difficult not to be snippy. And Dave _did_ sort of ask for it.

Eventually Spencer gave in and grabbed the pack, then went out onto the deck with a Coke. He lit a cigarette and sucked in some smoke, still fighting his gag reflex not to cough. "Six minutes," he croaked to himself. God, his mother would kill him. All those years of trying to get her to stop smoking. _That's six less minutes I get to spend with you_.

Spencer took another drag, then heard the garage door go up. He considered stomping it out, and rushing back inside, then washing his face and hands to try to hide what he was doing, but decided there was no point. So he just stayed outside and smoked, and listened as Dave came inside and moved around the house.

Eventually, the door to the back porch slid open. "Thought I might find you here." Dave walked out and shut the door behind him, then went to sit in the chair next to Spencer's. "Couldn't you just chew gum?"

"Gum doesn't exactly have the same physical effect as sucking in toxic gasses," Spencer said.

Dave nodded, and looked up at the sky. "I suppose not." He crossed his legs and sighed, not saying anything for a few minutes. Then he cleared his throat. "Does it help?"

Spencer nodded. "A little."

"I guess it's better than other things," Dave said. 

Spencer stared at him for a moment. Apparently Dave had had some time to calm down since they'd argued. "Yeah," Spencer said.

"You're quitting, though. After the... whatever it is that's making you do this stops."

Spencer nodded. "I don't like it all that much. I just didn't know what else to do. It's... I can't explain it. Sometimes I'm okay, and then other times I can't sit still and my mind is just stuck on needing to get high... like a broken record."

"What causes the difference?" Dave asked, rolling his head against the back of the chair to look at Spencer.

Spencer shrugged. "I don't know. When I'm bored, it's worse. But sometimes even when I'm at work and I have something to do, all I can think about..." _Is the needle piercing my skin, or the way the pills felt on my tongue._

Spencer sighed and put the cigarette out on the bottom of his shoe. "Years," he mumbled.

He saw Dave's head tilt. "Huh?"

"Years. Something my mother used to say. I used to tell her every time she lit a cigarette that it was six minutes off her life," Spencer explained. His lips curled into a small smile. "But when you quit, you add years to your life. She used to say that every time she put out her cigarette--'quit' for the time--that she was actually adding years to her life. Said she was going to live forever at the rate she was going." He huffed a laugh. "I didn't really think it was funny back then."

Dave grinned, then laughed. "You had no sense of humor," he said.

"Some would argue I still don't," Spencer said, but he couldn't help smiling. He was holding the unlit butt in his fingers, and he couldn't help but think about how his fingers were going to stink now.

Dave shook his head. "You just don't have the sense of humor of a man your age."

Spencer shook his head, then sighed, looking up at the sky. "Never have." He crossed his legs, his ankles touching, and thought about lighting another one. But this was sort of nice. This was calm. Dave wasn't being an asshole.

Of course, he could say the same thing about himself.

*****

Dave laid off on the smoking, and funnily enough, Spencer quit shortly afterward. Dave had to wonder how much of the smoking had been designed just to piss Dave off, and if Spencer realized he was acting like a rebellious teenager or not. Probably not.

After about three nights of Spencer not going out to smoke after Dave made dinner, Dave glanced at him from his recliner. "Years," he said.

"Huh?" Spencer asked, turning to Dave. Then it seemed to click, and Spencer rolled his eyes. "Yeah. I told you I didn't like it anyway."

"Does this mean you're doing better?" Dave asked.

Spencer made a face, then shrugged. "I don't know."

Dave watched him for a moment. "Ah."

"What does 'ah' mean?" Spencer said.

"It doesn't mean anything." Dave tilted his head, wondering if maybe there was something Spencer had _wanted_ to hear in response to that. "Should it?"

Spencer shrugged.

"Spencer, if you're wanting me to say something, tell me," Dave said. "If you want my opinion, I'll give it."

"Give it then," Spencer said, making a vague gesture at nothing.

Dave nodded and drew a breath. "I think you're doing a great job. I think it's admirable that you're staying clean, even if it did take me pushing you into it. I don't understand how hard this is for you, but I know that it is. _I_ think you're doing better even if you're not sure."

Spencer huffed a little laugh. "I wish I had the confidence in me that you do."

"You're too hard on yourself."

Spencer sighed, but nodded, which surprised Dave a little, that Spencer would _sort of_ agree he was hard on himself. They fell silent again for a long time, and Dave opened the book he'd been reading and settled in with it. He wasn't sure what Spencer was doing. By all rights it looked like absolutely nothing. Spencer was just sitting there quietly staring across the room. But Dave knew that verbal and physical silence from Spencer didn't exactly mean inactivity mentally.

Dave glanced over from time to time to find Spencer chewing his lip, or inspecting his fingernails. After a while, Spencer would glance back at Dave, so Dave stopped looking, feeling a little foolish for watching Spencer so closely. Truth was, though, that he was finding it more difficult not to watch Spencer, especially now that their relationship was slowly settling.

Spencer laid down on the couch after a while and stared at the ceiling. "I talked to my mom the other day."

Dave's eyebrows lifted, and he put his book down on his lap, holding his place with his knee. "Yeah? How is she?"

Spencer shrugged. "She remembered who I was. That's always good. She was worried. I haven't written her in a while."

"You write her?" Dave asked.

"Used to write her every day."

"Used to?"

"Yeah. It's hard to keep track of anything that you've done or not done when you're high. I can't even remember when I wrote her last."

Spencer sounded suddenly near tears, his voice fragile. Dave shifted to face him. 

"She was upset. Then she was mad. Then she stopped making sense."

Dave nodded. "Yeah," he said, not really sure why. "She'll get over it."

"You don't know my mother." Dave refrained from telling Spencer she might not even remember that he'd stopped writing, and let Spencer keep talking. "She's... I don't know."

"No, she's what?" Dave prompted.

"The smartest woman I know." Spencer bit his lip again, his eyes still above him. "I think children probably forgive their parents a lot more easily than parents forgive their children."

Dave considered that for a moment, thinking of how his mother had never let go of some of the crazy things he'd done when he was younger, and thought Spencer might be right. He sighed. "Did you tell her why you--?"

"Are you crazy?" Spencer said, before Dave had even finished speaking.

"Some would argue that I am," Dave said, his lips curling just a little. "You can always start writing again."

Spencer nodded, playing idly with the buttons of his shirt. "Yeah," he said, then paused for a moment before repeating, "Yeah." He sat up and stretched, then looked at Dave. "I think I will now."

"I'm sure it's more entertaining than watching me read," Dave said.

"I wasn't watching you read. You were watching me sit," Spencer said, a tentative smile crawling onto his face.

Dave frowned at him, feeling a little foolish that Spencer had brought it up, though he wasn't really angry. "Go write your letter," he grumbled, and Spencer chuckled and left the room.

*****

Things didn't ever change much at Dave's. Spencer wasn't sure yet if he hated that or not. Everyday they went to work together. Everyday Spencer took the VRE home, and Dave came home later to make them dinner.

It was really pretty boring, but it was also sort of comforting in its regularity. Spencer was so used to trying to keep himself from pacing his apartment. His home life really wasn't any more exciting, he realized, and at least he had someone to talk to at Dave's. The company was the main difference, and the better Spencer felt, the better cohabitation got.

"Do you know how to cook, Spencer?" Dave asked one night at dinner.

Spencer looked up from his plate. "Yeah."

"Oh, good. I'm getting a little tired of doing it for both of us all the time." Dave's voice was casual, and he settled next to Spencer on the couch.

Spencer felt the frown form on his face. "Considering you're holding me captive here, I don't see why I should."

Dave tilted his head at the TV, but didn't say anything at first. He looked thoughtful, eating his dinner, then he murmured, "You can leave any time you want."

Spencer turned to stare at him. "Right."

Dave shrugged. "You're clean. That was the point, right?" He seemed to wait for Spencer to reply, and then when he didn't, Dave added, "You're not going to go out and use again, are you?"

Spencer felt a little jolt in his gut, and he didn't say anything. After a moment, Dave turned a glare on him, letting his fork clatter loudly against his plate. "You'd be a fucking idiot to go back to that shit."

Spencer sucked in a breath. "You don't understand--"

"I understand perfectly," Dave snapped, cutting Spencer off. "You had a lot of tough breaks. Your dad left you, your mother was sick, you had to struggle through your childhood alone. Christ, you probably didn't even _have_ much of a childhood. You rose through the ranks in the FBI faster than it's supposed to be possible, and probably left a lot of resentment in your wake, and the things you see and deal with in our job aren't easy. You question every day whether you're doing enough, whether you're strong enough for this job, quick enough. Most of the rest of us question whether we're smart enough sometimes, but luckily we have you, when you're not screwing yourself up." Dave paused only long enough to draw a breath, but it didn't matter anyway, because all Spencer could do was stare at him and try to push down the rising sadness in his chest.

"You have nightmares you'll never get rid of, regrets that haunt you, and some days it's hard to even get out of bed. You think just because I got this whole profiling thing going, just because I've been in the field a while, that I don't understand? I _know_ how it is, Spencer. But you know what? No amount of burying it under false comfort is going to make it better. It'll just make it worse, and you'll need more and more of that shit to make it go away, and eventually it'll kill you, if not physically, it'll take everything you love away from you until you're just a shell of the man you were."

Spencer wasn't sure when his mouth had fallen open, or when his eyes had gone glassy, but it didn't matter. He still couldn't speak.

Dave's voice softened. "You're a good man, Spencer."

Spencer shook his head, feeling detached from himself. "No, I'm not." He sucked in a breath when Dave reached up and cupped his jaw with one hand.

"Yes, _you are_."

"How do I get rid of it?" Spencer heard himself asking, and cursed that his vision was swimming now.

"You don't," Dave said, and his thumb was stroking Spencer's cheek. "But you talk to people and it's more bearable." His fingertips were brushing into Spencer's hairline behind his ear, and Spencer shivered. "You're used to bearing everything yourself because you always have, you're used to not trusting people because you're afraid they'll leave... but you can't do that with this job."

"Dave," Spencer murmured, and turned his head into Dave's touch. Dave sucked in a breath and withdrew, and Spencer found himself regretting the lack of contact. "Who do I talk to?" he asked, his voice wavering.

Dave shrugged. "You can talk to me."

Spencer watched Dave for a moment, and then embarrassingly, tears rolled over his cheeks.

"Hey," Dave said, then took both of their plates and put them on the coffee table. Then his arm was sliding around Spencer's shoulders and Dave was pulling him against his chest.

Spencer automatically held Dave back, sniffing hard, and Dave's hands reached up to stroke Spencer's hair. Spencer felt safe for the first time in a long time. "Who do you talk to?"

"Aaron," Dave replied, his fingers sifting through Spencer's hair.

Spencer let out a thankful sigh and Dave held him closer. "You can talk to me," he whispered.

"I know," Dave said. "I trust you." His hand slid down and rubbed Spencer's shoulders. "But you don't need anymore burden right now."

*****

Spencer left that same afternoon, eager to get back to his apartment. He liked Dave's library, Dave's guest bed was more comfortable than his own, and whether Spencer knew how to cook or not, he hated doing it. He was getting better fed at Dave's house than he had been in years. Still, he missed his cramped apartment, his books, his tiny bed.

Dave hadn't packed a whole lot for Spencer, but he was a compulsive neat freak. Spencer's clothes were washed so regularly that he never had need to go back to his apartment while he was with Dave. It didn't take long for Spencer to gather what little there was of his things and leave.

Saying goodbye was more awkward than Spencer expected, but it was okay, and when he got back to his apartment, he felt relieved. He spent some time unpacking his things, and then settled on the couch with a microwave meal. He'd been feeling great about being home until that moment, but then suddenly it felt strange not having Dave sitting next to him. The television seemed too loud in his mostly empty apartment, without Dave's occasional quiet commentary.

The suddenly loneliness was almost surprising, and Spencer momentarily considered going to bed, but it was far too early for that. It didn't take very long for the cravings to start. He still had drugs here, in his mess of a sock drawer. He hadn't been back here alone to trash them. It would be _so easy_ to numb the sudden ache in his chest, so simple. He knew exactly where he could get drugs to replace what Dave had flushed.

Was it companionship he'd been missing this entire time? He had his team when he was at work, but he always went home to his empty apartment and stewed, letting everything fester inside of him. He hadn't exactly shared a huge amount of his pain with Dave, but having Dave there had helped more than he'd realized, knowing that Dave was there for him, that he _could_ tell Dave.

Spencer dragged the afghan his mother had made for him off the top of his couch and pulled it over him, curling into a ball on the couch. He could ride this out. It would pass. It had to pass.

*****

The knock at the door was unexpected. Jehovah's Witnesses, Dave thought. Maybe Girl Scouts. Was it even Girl Scout cookie season?

When he opened the door to see Spencer on the other side of it with a shopping bag, Dave was even more shocked. Spencer only smiled and stepped inside without a word of greeting, and Dave closed the door and stared at him.

"I thought I'd make carbonara," Spencer announced, and headed to the kitchen.

Dave waited for Spencer to be well out of earshot before muttering, "What the hell?" and following.

"Hello, Spencer," Dave said, standing in the kitchen archway and watching as Spencer started pulling out a pot.

"Hi," Spencer said back, then turned to look at Dave. "You're not busy, are you?"

Dave's eyebrows lifted, then his lips quirked to the side. "I was watching the game."

"Hmm," Spencer said. Dave doubted he even knew what game was on. "Don't let me interrupt." He turned back to the counter and started pulling things out of his shopping bag.

It had only been a week since Spencer had left Dave's house. Dave had found himself feeling lonelier than he thought he would. He'd been married three times, and was a man who liked the company of another person in his home and in his heart, but had come to believe that he was pretty good at fucking that up every time he tried it. Apparently, though, he hadn't with Spencer, in spite of worrying that Spencer might resent him for forcing him to get clean.

He hadn't seen any sign that Spencer was using again since Spencer had left, but Spencer was apparently just as lonely as Dave was, if he was here on a work night, cooking them dinner. Dave had already eaten, but as he watched Spencer, he couldn't bring himself to say anything. He could eat more.

"If you're not going to watch your game, you can help." 

Spencer hadn't turned around, but he must had felt Dave's eyes on him. Dave tilted his head at Spencer and considered it, then left the room and settled back on the couch. Not only had he taken care of Spencer for almost a month, but Spencer _had_ come over uninvited. Not that Dave minded that, but, well, the Mets were playing and it was the seventh inning.

The game was ending when Spencer came in the room with their plates, of course, by that time, Dave wasn't in as amicable a mood. Dave knew he was scowling at the TV, but Spencer sat and handed him a plate anyway. "They didn't win?"

Dave's frown deepened. "They had that," he growled. "They fucking had that game in the bag and they blew it in the last damn inning." He tossed the remote into Spencer lap and started eating, taking his frustration out on the innocent pasta on his plate.

Spencer was staring at him like he'd grown another head. "And who are 'they'?"

Dave blinked, then grumbled, "The Mets." He glanced at Spencer, whose expression was blank, and sighed. "Baseball."

Spencer's eyebrows lifted and he nodded. "Oh."

"You don't watch _any_ sports?" Dave asked.

"I think I'm still holding a grudge from high school," Spencer answered, flipping the channel to some documentary on the life cycle of the amoeba. Or something. Dave wasn't sure.

"Ah," Dave said, and pretended to be interested in the program for a while, still sort of seething.

After a while, Spencer darted a sideways glance at him. "Why do you watch it if it makes you angry?"

"It's a good sort of angry."

Spencer's eyebrows lifted. "Well, that explains that," he said, and turned back to the TV.

Dave rolled his eyes and focused on his food.

*****

Dave really didn't feel like Spencer had moved out at all. After the first night Spencer came and cooked him dinner, it became a regular thing. It wasn't every night, but it was a few nights a week, more on weeks after bad cases.

Dave didn't really mind. He supposed if that was what it took for Spencer to stay sober, he was more than happy for it. Of course, there was more that he was happy about than just Spencer's continued sobriety. He liked Spencer's company. He probably liked it too much, but he was trying to keep himself from letting that feeling blossom.

Of course, Spencer was doing better and wasn't snapping all the time, so Dave was finding that more and more difficult to control. Spencer looked healthy and seemed happy to be in Dave's company, and Dave found himself inclined to touch him. It wasn't ever anything overt--a hand on Spencer's shoulder, or a gentle nudge when Dave was teasing him. Funny thing was that Spencer didn't seem to mind in the least. Considering how much Spencer seemed to dislike touching people, Dave couldn't help but feel good about that.

Spencer was lucky that Dave wasn't overloaded with people that wanted to spend time with him, since Spencer never called ahead of time. Dave wondered if he'd ever come by to find Dave not home, but he thought that might embarrass Spencer if he asked. Still, Dave had started wanting to plan to do something other than just watching movies and having dinner in. It just had to be something that could be done on a whim, no reservation required.

When Spencer showed up at Dave's door the next time, Dave didn't let him inside. Spencer frowned in confusion, a flash of hurt crossing his face for a moment. Dave held up his hand to keep Spencer from continuing with whatever scenario he'd come up with in his head for Dave not wanting to see him anymore.

"I thought we could go somewhere," Dave said.

Spencer still looked confused. "Go... where?"

"You know, I hadn't really decided. What do you like?"

Spencer bit his lip. "I'm fine just watching a movie."

"What is that you're always saying about diverse stimulation?" Dave asked, smiling faintly. "We're going to sit and stagnate in there another night?"

"There's... an exhibit at the art museum that supposed to be good."

Dave shook his head. "Something fun, Spencer. What do you like to do for _fun_?"

Spencer just blinked at him. "Read... Build models... Go to museums..."

Dave held a sigh. "All right. Art museum it is. You drive," he said, and Spencer's face lit up. "Your car," Dave finished.

"Oh, I see," Spencer said, rolling his eyes. "This is more about riding in my car than letting me drive because no one ever does."

"You catch on fast," Dave teased, then shut and locked the door. He found his hand on Spencer's back a moment later as he guided them to the driveway.

 

The museum wasn't bad. It wasn't really Dave's idea of a good time, but he enjoyed watching Spencer's face light up as he read the little plaques next to the paintings. Spencer stood there and explained everything to Dave like he was clueless. It wasn't so much that he was clueless about art, it was more that this modern experimental stuff just seemed so bizarre to him. Anyone could splatter paint on a canvass willy nilly.

When they left, Spencer was walking so close to Dave that their shoulders brushed on occasion, and he looked over at Dave expectantly. "Did you like it?"

"Yeah," Dave had, but he didn't add that he liked it because _Spencer_ liked it. Spencer didn't need to know that.

"There's another one next weekend. It's, ah, surrealist." Spencer still had this expectant look on his face, and Dave had to hold a groan. He almost wished he had told Spencer he hadn't liked it now.

"Want to go?" he said instead.

"Yeah," Spencer said, and the way he was suddenly beaming made Dave forget that he really wasn't excited about the idea at all.

"It's still early. Anything else you want to do?"

Spencer bit his lips together in thought, and Dave prayed he wasn't going to suggest something even less exciting than this had been. Spencer just shook his head after a moment. "Not that I can think of."

Dave nodded and thought for a moment. Then inspiration struck. "Bowling?"

Spencer frowned and just turned to stare at Dave. 

"What?"

"I--" Spencer looked like he'd been hit over the head with something very heavy.

"You don't like bowling," Dave said, and nodded. He could see that.

"I've never been bowling," Spencer said, and Dave's eyebrows lifted.

Dave stared at him, then a slow smile spread across his face. There was something incredibly inviting about the idea of teaching Doctor Spencer Reid, Genius Extraordinaire, something that he didn't already know how to do.

"It's the sport of kings," Dave said.

"That's horse racing."

Dave shrugged. "Whatever. You get to wear horrible shoes that everyone and their mother has worn, drink beer, and look like an idiot."

"Sounds great," Spencer said, sarcasm creeping into his voice.

"No, it really is. Everyone looks like an idiot when they bowl." Dave nudged Spencer towards his car. "Diverse stimulation," he said. "What better than to try new things?" He was half inclined to ask how Spencer had gone his entire life and never gone bowling, but he had a feeling it had something to do with Spencer's nonexistent popularity when he was young and growing up with a mother who wasn't exactly well.

Spencer stood outside his car door for a moment, just watching Dave. He looked extremely skeptical. Dave was starting to think he was going to say no when Spencer finally nodded. "Okay, fine."

 

Spencer was not skilled in the art of bowling. He would have liked to think it had to do with having never played before, but it had no illusions that it was anything but his utter lack of coordination. He'd dropped his ball several times, slipped on whatever was slicking the wood on the lane, and smashed a finger in the ball return.

That last incident was what prompted Dave to take pity on him and call it quits. Dave drove back while Spencer held his finger in a cup of ice that they'd got at the little snack stand inside.

Dave was grinning a little too widely, and Spencer thought that maybe he was trying not to laugh at him. Oddly, Spencer found he didn't really care. He was embarrassed, yes, but Dave just seemed so happy. Going out had been a good plan.

When they got back to Dave's house, Dave took the cup of ice, then went into the kitchen to put it in a plastic baggy. He came back with the bag, a towel wrapped around it, and took Spencer's wrist. "Here," he said, and Spencer let Dave put the ice on his finger gently.

It was sort of amazing how Dave could be such an asshole at times, and then be utterly gentle at others. Dave hadn't exactly been easy on Spencer when he was getting clean, but he'd had his moments. He was having more of them now.

Spencer took the bag and Dave let go, sitting down next to Spencer on the couch. "You did pretty good for your first time."

"And last time," Spencer said, giving Dave a look that said he knew he'd done anything but well.

"Well, it's not about winning," Dave said. He touched Spencer's knee, and Spencer felt a little thrill shoot through him. Dave had been doing that more often lately, and Spencer hadn't exactly been disinterested in Dave before.

"What is it about?" Spencer asked.

"Fun," Dave said. "It's just about doing something stupid for fun. You don't have to suck up information all the time."

"Oh, I sucked up plenty. Like the way I roll a ball just as poorly as I throw one."

Dave laughed and turned to smile at Spencer. "Well, I had fun."

"I'm glad." Spencer looked at Dave for a moment. "You didn't really like the museum, did you?"

Dave's lips twisted, but his smile didn't fade. "Not all that much."

Oddly, Spencer felt himself smiling at that. "Thanks for going anyway."

"Thanks for making an ass of yourself in clown shoes for me," Dave replied, his grin going mischievous.

Spencer thought maybe he should be offended, but he just snorted. "Fuck you."

Dave chuckled, and then they both went quiet for a while. The TV wasn't even on, and Spencer just listened to Dave breathe, seeing his chest rise and fall from the corner of his eyes.

After a while, Dave sighed. "You're special. You know that?"

The words surprised Spencer, and he turned to look at Dave. "I--I know."

"Not for what you know," Dave said quickly.

Spencer opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out.

"You just are." Dave reached up and touched Spencer's face gently, and a rush of excitement flooded through Spencer. He'd kept his feelings for Dave bottled up, but in that moment he knew exactly what he was supposed to do. He leaned in and kissed Dave, his lips ghosting over Dave's mouth.

Dave just sucked in a short breath, then made a wanting noise and kissed him back, brushing his hand back into Spencer's hair. Dave's mouth was slow, almost uncertain, and when Spencer pulled back, Dave's eyes matched.

"We can't do this," Dave murmured. He looked breathless.

Spencer chest ached at the words, and he felt his brows draw together. "Why?"

"We work together. I'm too old for you. You..."

"I what?" Spencer prompted. He wasn't even sure what was keeping him talking, because suddenly all he wanted to do was run.

"You deserve more than a three-times-divorced man who's old enough to be your father."

Spencer stared at Dave, his lips parting in surprise. Part of him couldn't believe the great Dave Rossi, the _cocky_ Dave Rossi, would ever say someone deserved better than him. Not to mention someone like Spencer, whom Dave had witnessed at his lowest points recently.

"I-- Dave, I don't care--"

"I do," Dave said, pressing his finger to Spencer's mouth.

Dave's brow was creased, and he was watching Spencer. Spencer felt half inclined to kiss Dave's finger, but mostly he was just embarrassed now. 

"I should go," he blurted after a moment.

"Spencer, you don't have to leave," Dave said. Spencer couldn't tell from looking at Dave if Dave really meant that or not.

"Yeah, I do," Spencer said, then stood and went to the kitchen to dump the ice down the sink and throw the plastic bag away. When he came back into the living room, Dave was hunched over with his head in his hands.

"Spencer--"

"It's fine," Spencer said. He didn't want to hear Dave try to gloss this over, or try to make it seem like everything was normal. He didn't want to just sweep this all under the rug like it hadn't happened. It had been a great night until just now. "It's fine. I'll see you at work," he added after a moment, and let himself out.

*****

It wasn't fine. It was nowhere near fine.

Dave and Spencer went back to work the next day and they could barely look at each other. Or at least Spencer couldn't look at Dave, so he really didn't know if Dave was watching him or not. 

Spencer _knew_ Dave had wanted to kiss him the night before. Dave didn't just do things like that if he didn't want to. Especially not kiss other men, given Dave's reputation. If he'd _really_ thought they shouldn't kiss, he would have stopped it.

Then again, Dave did have trouble sometimes with controlling his gut impulses.

 _So do I. It's why I made an idiot of myself and kissed him_ , Spencer thought. God, he really had been stupid when he let that one moment carry him away.

Of course it wasn't just that moment, was it? He and Dave had been growing closer since Spencer started to calm down after his withdrawal. Dave had been touching him. Dave had gone and done something he'd had no interest in just for Spencer. 

The more Spencer thought about it, the more the embarrassment turned into irritation. Then anger. Why _couldn't_ they be together?

By the time Dave and Spencer wound up having to work together that day, Spencer had stopped avoiding Dave's gaze. In fact he'd started doing the opposite. He was staring at Dave, trying to make him uncomfortable. It was stupid because Dave was used to _serial killers_ trying to make him uncomfortable, so it wasn't as though Spencer really had a leg to stand on.

"I want to talk to you," Spencer finally said as they finished going over case notes.

"Yeah?" Dave said casually, glancing up, then back down at the crime scene photos in front of them.

"About last night," Spencer said, and Dave's gaze snapped up.

"That's not really up for discussion, Spencer. I told you we can't."

"Why?" Spencer demanded. He glanced at the door out of the round table room, then back at Dave, satisfied they weren't going to get walked in on.

"I already told you," Dave grumbled, and started gathering the papers spread out on the table.

"What if I don't think that was a good enough excuse?" Spencer said.

"Then you're going to have to learn to live with it," Dave said flatly, and closed the folder in front of him. Then he stood. "This really isn't the place for this."

"Fine. I'm coming over tonight," Spencer replied.

"Look, Spencer--"

"You're going to start avoiding me now?"

Dave watched Spencer for a moment, then he sighed. "Fine. I'll see you tonight."

 

Spencer had gotten used to the time Dave usually got home, and he planned to get there shortly after. He wound up waiting longer than planned, though, because he just couldn't calm himself down. Something needed to be done about this, and that something really shouldn't be them pretending that nothing happened the night before.

It was closing in on ten o'clock when Spencer finally got to Dave's. He knocked on the door, and it swung open a few minutes later.

"I was starting to think you weren't coming," Dave said.

"I can't tell if that statement is disappointed or relieved," Spencer said.

"Look," Dave said, shutting the door and holding his hands up. "Something happened that shouldn't have happened, but there's not any reason to be angry at me."

"That depends on whose perspective you're seeing it from."

Dave stared at Spencer for a moment, then sighed. "Come in. Have you eaten?"

"No," Spencer said, following Dave to the kitchen.

"I made lasagna, but I was expecting you earlier. You can microwave it if you want," Dave said.

"I never specified when I was coming."

"No, you didn't, but you tend to be as habitual as I do." Dave's lips twisted into a small smile, and something in Spencer's chest tugged uncomfortably.

"I don't want lasagna," Spencer said, his heart starting to race. "I want you, and your reasons for not wanting me are shit."

"I haven't given you all of my reasons," Dave said, and Spencer felt a deeper frown on his face.

"What does that mean?"

"It's pretty self-explanatory," Dave said. He leaned back against the counter and eyed Spencer.

He didn't know what to say for a moment. He could practically hear the blood rushing in his ears. He drew a breath, hesitated, then finally breathed, "You want me."

Dave's lips pressed together and he looked down at the floor. "That's not really the point."

"You want me," Spencer repeated, and forced his feet forward. When he got to Dave, he curled his fingers into Dave's shirt and pulled him close to kiss him, his tongue darting out against Dave's soft lips until Dave opened to him.

"Spencer," Dave breathed, tensing and pulling Spencer's finger's out of his shirt.

"You want me, don't you?" Spencer asked. He wanted Dave to admit it before he went any further.

Dave let out a gusty breath. "Yes, Spencer..." He had both of Spencer's wrists now. "But not like this."

Spencer kissed him again, and he wasn't sure whether to be encouraged by the desire with which Dave returned it, or the way Dave's fingers were tightening on his wrists.

"Spencer, you're confused."

"I'm sober," Spencer argued, brushing his lips to Dave's as he spoke. He tugged his hand lightly and said, "Stop," and Dave let go of his wrists. Spencer's fingers were immediately in Dave's hair.

"You only think you want me because I've helped you." Dave's hands found Spencer's hips, and Spencer wasn't sure if he was trying to hold Spencer to keep him from getting closer, or to _keep_ him close.

"I want you," Spencer said. "I want you because you're you. And you helped me, and I need to thank you, but I wouldn't do this if I didn't think it was the right thing to do."

"A month ago, you thought sticking a needle in your arm was the right thing to do," Dave countered, and cold swept through Spencer's body. "What are you going to think next month?"

Spencer suddenly felt like he was choking, and he jerked away, stung. "That's not fair," he accused.

"How is it not fair?" Dave demanded. "It's the truth. Is it not fair to tell you the truth just because you don't want to hear it?"

"Fuck you," Spencer snapped. " _This_ is your other reason?"

"Spencer, look, I'm old enough to be your dad, and I'm trying my damnedest to be sensitive here. You're smart, and gorgeous, and I would be lucky if you really wanted me, but it isn't what you want."

Spencer glared. "Even the best profilers in the world aren't mind readers, Dave. You don't know what I want."

Dave sighed, and walked across the room to get a drink. "Scotch?"

"I don't know. Are you going to hold it against me if I have a drink and then say something else you don't want to hear?" It wasn't really fair, considering he and Dave had lightened up on the rules in the last couple of weeks.

"God damn it, Spencer, I _do_ want to hear that you want me. I just don't think it's real."

Spencer clenched his jaw and glared at Dave. "Let me show you how real it is."

"What? With sex?" Dave asked, his eyebrows lifting.

"With whatever you want. We could go out again, though we've practically been having dates for a month now, just sitting in your living room." Spencer bit the inside of his cheek and watched Dave.

"What happens if I'm right?" Dave said.

"About...?"

"About you being confused? About this all being because I helped you?" Dave asked.

"You're wrong," Spencer insisted.

"But what if I'm right?" Dave asked.

Spencer thought about that. Dave _was_ wrong. Spencer just had to think of a way to make him stop being such a stubborn asshole about this. After a moment, inspiration hit him. "You know, I don't know. You should definitely let the fear of the unknown keep you from doing something you want to do." He gave Dave a look, and the scowl he got back said Dave knew exactly what Spencer was doing.

Fortunately, knowing that didn't seem to stop Dave's gut reaction to being called afraid. "You are such a little shit," he grumbled.

"That's not really a response," Spencer said, making a face, but then Dave was walking across the room.

He grabbed Spencer and kissed him, and Spencer automatically moaned and wrapped his arms around Dave. He was strong and solid, and his goatee was scratching Spencer's face, but the feel of every part of Dave against Spencer made Spencer's breath hard to catch.

"Yes," he breathed.

"Shut up," Dave replied, and pressed Spencer against the hallway wall. His fingers stroked up Spencer's side and into his hair, and Spencer tugged at Dave's shirt. After a brief hesitation, Dave lifted his arms and let Spencer pull it off.

The sprinkling of chest hair across Dave's skin was grey, and so utterly manly. If Dave hadn't been pressing against Spencer, Spencer would have pressed his face to Dave's chest, taking in Dave's smell, listening to the beating of his heart. He was sure it had to be hammering in Dave's chest just as fast as it was in Spencer's now.

Dave worked open Spencer's buttons slowly, seeming discontent that Spencer was wearing an undershirt. In fact, Dave seemed pretty grouchy in general right now, but Spencer knew he was just annoyed at being proven wrong. He wanted Spencer, and had been forced to act on it out of sheer pride.

Spencer couldn't help but feel smug about that.

"Bedroom," Spencer ordered, and expected Dave to protest, but he didn't. He just pulled Spencer down the hall with him, then tugged Spencer's shirt off once they were in the bedroom.

Then he stopped cold. "Shit."

"What?" Spencer said.

"I don't have condoms," Dave said.

Spencer's lips curled. "I do."

Dave gave Spencer a flat look. "Pretty sure of yourself, weren't you?"

"Had good reason," Spencer said, then kissed Dave again.

"Shit," Dave grumbled, but this time it was an almost affectionate insult.

Spencer's fingers found Dave's button, and pulled open his jeans, and then both of them were kicking out of the rest of their clothes and falling on the bed. "You're so sexy," Spencer murmured.

"Mmm," Dave hummed. He rolled them so that he was on top of Spencer, then closed his teeth on Spencer's neck. Spencer gasped and arched, his fingers curling against Dave's back. "You're... mmm..."

"I'm what?" Spencer asked, scratching at Dave's back a little.

Dave just nibbled down Spencer's neck until Spencer couldn't breath, his thumbs brushing over Spencer's hip. Spencer gave up trying to think, and thrust up against Dave, groaning in pleasure as their cocks brushed. "I want you to have me," Spencer said.

"Want that too," Dave admitted. "I _do_ have lube," he added.

"Condom's in my pocket," Spencer told him, and then Dave shifted back. He dug in Spencer's pocket, then threw the condom packet at Spencer. It hit him in the face, and Spencer tried to glare at Dave, but all he could manage was to stare at him. 

Dave was leaning over the nightstand, looking in the drawer, completely naked. Spencer's mouth went dry. "God, you're gorgeous," Spencer panted, and Dave glanced over at him, a smirk playing on his lips.

When he found the lube, he climbed back on top of Spencer and thrust down. "Sexy," he whispered, and Spencer pressed up against him. 

"Fuck me."

Dave groaned. "Oh, you need to talk like that more often." He shifted away, and Spencer couldn't help but anticipate Dave slicking himself, but instead he leaned down and bit at one of Spencer's nipples.

"Yes," Spencer moaned. His fingers threaded into Dave's hair, and he thrust up roughly against Dave's body. "Oh, Dave," he panted. "Please."

"Are you begging?" Dave asked. "Going to have to do better than that." He grinned down at Spencer, but then suddenly the grin slipped off.

Spencer frowned. "What?"

Dave just heaved a heavy sigh and sat back on his heels, his cock standing proudly at attention. "We shouldn't," he said. A flash of irritation shot through Spencer, but when he opened his mouth to protest, Dave held up a hand to stop him. "You've been using needles."

Spencer blinked at him, and then his stomach dropped when he realized what Dave was saying.

"Have you?" Dave said.

Spencer bit his lip and shook his head, feeling slightly ashamed. "No, I haven't been tested."

Dave nodded. "I know we have a condom, but..." he said, then shifted and laid down on the bed next to Spencer. 

Spencer just nodded. He lifted his arm and draped it over his eyes. "God," he breathed.

"Mmm," Dave agreed. His hand stroked over Spencer's chest, the urgency gone from his movements, though the touch was no less appreciative. It slid down and curled around Spencer's cock, and Spencer sucked in a breath and turned to look at Dave. Dave was smiling.

"We can do other things," he suggested.

*****

Dave had never been particularly good at chivalry, so he wasn't overly surprised when Spencer managed to get him to going with his desires where he was concerned. It was still a little worrying, though. It was stupid for them to be together for all the reasons he'd given Spencer and more, but Spencer wanted him, and he wanted Spencer. He just had to pray this wasn't a fleeting thing.

The following day they got up and showered and left for work like normal--well, like normal, but with far more kissing and touching, and showering together instead of alone--but as the day wore on at work, Dave could see Spencer starting to look more and more uncomfortable. Dave watched him carefully, but couldn't seem to figure out why, and as far as he knew the only thing that had changed with Spencer was that he and Dave had spent the night in together the night before.

Dave couldn't quite squash the sinking feeling in his chest. Maybe Spencer had started to realize the mistake it was for them to be together now that they had some distance. Dave hoped not, but at the end of the day he rubbed the bridge of his nose as he headed for the elevator and decided to hope for the best. Be prepared for the worst, but hope for the best.

When Spencer didn't come by at his usual time, Dave poured himself a glass of scotch and thought about calling Spencer. But neither he and Spencer really liked talking on the phone much. It would look weird for Dave to suddenly call today when they never called ahead. It would look needy and foolish, and Dave didn't need another thing to make him feel stupid about this if Spencer called it off now.

Dave had just about given up on Spencer coming over when there was a knock on the door. When he opened it, Spencer was on the other side of the door looking timid.

Dave frowned. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" he asked, not bothering with pleasantries. If Spencer was going to call it off, Dave wanted it over with quick.

Spencer's eyebrows lifted, though, and he seemed to have not expected the question at all. "Huh?"

Dave's frown deepened but he stepped aside to let Spencer in. "Scotch?" he asked, sparing a moment to be glad they'd finally gotten beyond the stage where a couple of drinks would send Spencer into cravings again.

"Yeah," Spencer said absently, but he turned and looked at Dave when the door shut. "What do you mean what's wrong?"

"You've been strange all day," Dave said, walking to the drinks cabinet and pouring a drink for Spencer.

"I have?" Spencer asked.

"Yes," Dave said simply, handing Spencer the glass.

Spencer shrugged, watching Dave as if it would give him a clue what Dave was asking about. "I guess maybe I was a little nervous."

Dave sighed. "About this," he said, gesturing between them.

"What?" Spencer said. Dave could see the light going on, and was flooded with relief all at once by Spencer's emphatic shake of his head. "No. This? Us? No," Spencer said. A smile crept over his face for the first time since he'd walked in the door. "No," he repeated, and then finally leaned in to kiss Dave gently.

Dave sucked in a breath and felt himself melt a little. He wrapped an arm around Spencer and pulled him close.

"I was nervous about the test," Spencer said, the smile slipping off entirely a few beats after the words were out of his mouth.

"Ah," Dave said. He nodded and pulled Spencer over to the couch. "How long?"

"I hope a really long time," Spencer said.

Dave frowned in confusion. "To get the test back?"

"Oh," Spencer said, then laughed. "I thought you meant to live. I thought it was a really shitty joke to make right now, actually."

Dave couldn't help but laugh too. He put his drink down and pulled Spencer against his chest. "How long until you get results?"

"They said it could take up to a couple of weeks," Spencer said, sighing and relaxing against Dave.

"You used a needle exchange," Dave said, hoping to God that it had been enough.

Spencer nodded slowly, but then he didn't say anything. Dave lifted a hand and stroked his hair, and after a moment, Spencer wrapped an arm around Dave's waist.

"I did," he said finally. "I... don't remember a lot from when I was high, though. I just don't know. And I..."

Dave waited for Spencer to go on, and when he didn't, Dave kissed his forehead. "What?" he murmured.

"I was... with people," Spencer said.

"Ah," Dave said again, trying to hide the sudden anger that rose up in him. Surprisingly, though, he found he wasn't really mad at Spencer. He was mad at the faceless people he'd slept with, mad at them for taking advantage of Spencer in a weak state. Never mind that they were possibly in as bad a state themselves.

"You used protection?" he asked after a moment.

"I don't really... remember," Spencer admitted, and Dave felt a shock of fear wash through him, replacing the anger. He tightened his arm around Spencer. Now he understood why Spencer had been acting so strangely. "I hadn't really even thought about it until last night," Spencer went on. "I'm glad you stopped us. I just... hadn't thought."

Dave shook his head slowly. "It's okay," he said. "You're gonna be okay." He hoped he was right.

 

When the test results came a week later, Spencer had invited Dave to his apartment... which was _interesting_. Dave really preferred his own place to Spencer's clutter, but the way Spencer was beaming when Dave came inside was worth enduring the mismatched dining room table chairs and spaceship models dangling from the ceiling. 

He suddenly had the thought that five years down the line, if they went far enough to share a living space permanently, one of those models might be gracing the mantle of his stone fireplace. He held a groan, and Spencer finished giving him the tour of the apartment.

"You don't like it," Spencer noticed.

"It's interesting," Dave said, trying to be fair. "Not what I'm used to, but it seems very you."

Spencer snorted. "Are you calling me a mess?"

Dave laughed and gave Spencer a warm look. "Yes," he teased, and Spencer kissed him.

"I'm clean," Spencer murmured against his lips.

Dave's chest suddenly felt full of emotion, desire threatening to burst through it. Instead of replying, he made a hungry little noise, and kissed Spencer deeply until Spencer was breathless.

"I was hoping that would be your reaction," Spencer breathed. He kissed Dave's jaw. "I do have food, though."

Dave's lips twisted up. "Anything that can't wait and be reheated?"

Spencer's grin widened. "No," he said.

Dave tightened his arms around Spencer, feeling happier than he had in a long time. Spencer was healthy, and seemed happy, and Dave... well, he had exactly what he wanted now. "It can wait," he murmured, and pulled Spencer to the bedroom.

 

__

It is one of the most beautiful compensations of life that no man can sincerely try to help another without helping himself.  
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson


End file.
